


Pure Radiance

by mveloc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, F/F, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 95,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mveloc/pseuds/mveloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The first time I see her, it’s fire. </em><br/> </p><p> <em>Not the punishing kind I’ve come to fear— the kind that comes entwined with the sun’s rays or the touch of a crucifix— but the kind that shines its light upon you and breathes life back into the deepest parts of me that I long since believed were dead. Dormant lungs suddenly feel filled to the brim with the sweet, lead-like heaviness of air they’ve so long been denied and when I close my eyes and listen very closely, I can almost hear my phantom heartbeat slamming in my apt ears. My tongue quickly darts from my mouth and swipes over my lips to wet them in anticipation— though of what, I’m uncertain.</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Behold-- new fic! This one was inspired by a prompt from **burninbushytail** over on Tumblr, who asked for a Cophine vampire, forbidden love-esque fic. I typically avoid vampire stuff since Twilight ruined it for me, but I have to say, I've been having a lot of fun with this one. It's a nice change of pace from the soul-crushing nature of Train Under Water :P It isn't exactly super fluffy, but I promise it won't be nearly as bad as TUW. Just a little dark (and sometimes violent and/or smutty) fun.  
>  Anyway, this first chapter kinda works more as a prologue than anything-- the actual plot will kick in in the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think :)
> 
>  

* * *

  

_"She is the sun_

_I can touch_

_and kiss_  

_and hold_

_without_

_getting burnt.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The first thing you should know is that I try not to make a habit of feeding off children. 

 

However, sometimes the hunger nags and food is scarce. On such a night, I find myself out wandering the quiet streets in search of scraps and regretting my choice to settle in such an uneventful little town. Though the quietness is what initially attracted me to such a place, it only makes the hunt more difficult; my options are few, any choice I make ripe with the threat of suspicion. I’ve been able to avoid detection until now by surviving mostly on the (self-procured) charity of the local blood bank, though the recent blood shortage has forced me out into the darkness again and this time, I’ve made the horrible mistake of waiting too long between meals. The bulk of my god-like strength has left me for the most part and I know that I must choose my next meal carefully, lest they provide too much of a challenge for me in my weakened state. 

 

It seems almost serendipitous when I stumble upon the most gloriously mundane specimen that has ever captured my attention.

 

He’s an awkward boy with a pair of large glasses settled upon the bridge of his nose and a set of large teeth that don’t quite fit his face just yet. His limbs dangle from his body like overgrown branches and all I can think of is how easy it would be to disassemble him even in my frailness, to pick him apart piece-by-piece like a doll I might have once played with. In my experience, teenage boys are perhaps the most foul-tasting of all prospects, but I’m hardly in a position to be picky.

 

So I wait. 

 

I watch him disappear into a house and from the shadows, I begin my stake out. I feel the hunger pangs begin to radiate down into my bones and my fangs begin to throb beneath the force of my will, which is barely strong enough to restrain them for the time being. The minutes bleed into hours, the moon climbs a little higher in the sky and I wonder if perhaps I should abandon my target altogether in search of another. Then again, how likely am I to find another at such a time? 

 

My patience pays off when the scrawny boy finally emerges from the house once again and I watch him with eyes dripping black as he storms away, a scowl on his face. My senses are on high alert again and I trail behind him, close enough not to lose sight but far enough away for my presence to remain a secret as I cling to the shadows for coverage. 

 

“Hey, Scott! Wait up!”

 

The voice catches me off guard and I halt my pursuit, backing off even farther away and ducking behind a nearby tree to avoid being seen by the newcomer. Whoever it is, they don’t seem to notice me as their attention is focused solely on the lanky boy. Short legs carry them in a quick burst all the way over to where he’s stopped to wait as per their request. I squint, my eyes adjusting to take in the newcomer.

 

The first time I see her, it’s fire. 

 

Not the punishing kind I’ve come to fear— the kind that comes entwined with the sun’s rays or the touch of a crucifix— but the kind that shines its light upon you and breathes life back into the deepest parts of me that I long since believed were dead. Dormant lungs suddenly feel filled to the brim with the sweet, lead-like heaviness of air they’ve so long been denied and when I close my eyes and listen very closely, I can almost hear my phantom heartbeat slamming in my apt ears. My tongue quickly darts from my mouth and swipes over my lips to wet them in anticipation— though of what, I’m uncertain.

 

“Geez. I don’t understand why you’re so butt-hurt about this,” she speaks.

 

“You made me look bad in front of them,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest and glowering down at her.

 

Instead of recoiling in fear or guilt, she meets his displeasure with a cheeky grin and it’s enough to summon a smirk upon my pale face, her boldness stirring something inside. 

 

“Please. You hardly need my help in that department.”

 

I’m partially inclined to laugh and it’s strange. I can’t remember the last time a human has been able to elicit laughter from these lips, let alone such a tiny one. I ultimately resist the urge, afraid my laughter might alert them to my presence. This “Scott” turns his back on the tiny girl and continues to storm away from her, his displeasure still a fixture upon his face.

 

“I’m never inviting you again,” he spits.

 

She’s chasing after him again and I can’t imagine why she would even bother, why she would waste her time with such a creature. Surely she has much better things to do. I can tell from her scent that there’s no chance this boy is her lover, though my nose is hardly necessary when the eyes can so plainly see a sibling-like dynamic.

 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, dude,” she apologizes, catching up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t help it if I’m, like, amazing.”

 

He releases a deep, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping forward and body deflating.

 

“They think I’m a total loser.”

 

She slides herself right next to him and they walk together at a leisurely pace as I follow behind, the couple still ignorant of my existence.

 

“We just spent three hours playing Rune Wars with a bunch of college dudes in a basement,” she says flatly. “We’re _all_ losers, man.”

 

He perks up slightly, much like a puppy at the sight of his master. An eager smile returns to his features and he nods.

 

“Yeah. I guess you’re sorta right.”

 

They continue to walk along and I continue to follow them, though I’m not sure why; clearly any hope I had of feeding on the boy has been dashed by the tiny girl’s appearance. The hunger in my stomach tells me to move on, to find myself another meal and quickly, but I can’t pull myself away. I follow them all the way to a quaint-looking house that stands on a silent, unassuming street with a dozen of its twins all lined up and facing each other in two neat rows.

 

“Don’t forget to finish your lab report. It’s due Tuesday, you know,” she reminds him. “I don’t wanna get a bad mark because of you.”

 

“I won’t. It’s pretty much done. I just have to…”

 

He continues rambling on about their schoolwork but his words fade into the background as she turns her body to face me. I become very still from the bushes, not even daring to blink as she stares right at me, _into me_. For a moment I wonder if she can see me. It doesn’t seem possible; I’ve been so quiet, so careful. 

 

“Do you feel that?” she asks, interrupting him.

 

He stops himself, shooting her a confused look.

 

“Feel what?”

 

She narrows her eyes in my direction and my canines begin to throb once agin, threatening to break free from their fleshy sheath. My fists tighten into glass balls and my instincts scream “ _pounce,”_ though something else keeps my feet tethered to the earth beneath them.

 

“Nevermind.”

 

She reluctantly turns away and if my lungs had breath, they’d expel a sigh of relief.

 

“You’re freaking me out,” Scott tells her.

 

“I’m freaking myself out,” she mumbles.

 

The two say their goodbyes and Scott disappears into the house. She doesn’t follow in after him. Instead, she turns and heads down the row of houses with a contemplative look upon her face. I suddenly find myself wondering exactly what it is she’s thinking, having to know every thought that occupies that sharp, young mind of hers. My curiosity wins out over my hunger and I follow, being cautious to keep even more space between us as her senses appear to be heightened. She journeys into a house at the very end of the street and I find cover in the large fir tree along the side of it. 

 

From there, I wait. 

 

A light flicks on, shining through the window which faces my tree and I see her slip into the room— her bedroom. It’s moments like these that I’m grateful for my enhanced vision, the kind that lets me gaze through the darkness with ease and magnify whatever sight my eyes happen upon. I see her with perfect clarity, I watch her dig through her drawer in search of something and fall back onto her bed once she’s found her prize. She places the joint between her lips and reaches over to her nightstand to retrieve a red lighter, lighting the end of it and taking a long drag. She holds it in for as long as she can before expelling it with a few heavy coughs.

 

I wonder what it feels like.

 

The burn of smoke filling lungs, the sweet, drug-induced haze that slips over the mind. I’ve never tried it myself— it was never a thing in my lifetime and I haven’t found myself tempted in the many years since, but as I watch the joint dangle and burn idly between her lips, I’m suddenly curious, suddenly _tempted_. 

 

I lean back against the tree’s trunk, allowing it to support me as I continue to watch. _Just a little while longer,_ I tell myself. The moon won’t stay high forever and I still need to feed before the night is over. But for now, I watch her with a foreign heat tickling at the corners of my lips. 

 

 

* * *

 

  

She’s upset today. 

 

I can tell by the rigidness in her body, the weight in her steps as she drags herself into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. I’ve come to learn these things in the weeks I’ve been observing her, come to detect the subtle changes in her demeanour. _What’s got you so bothered?_ I wonder. _Who’s upset you?_ Of course, these are questions I cannot ask her myself, so I allow my keen observational skills to provide me with an answer. 

 

The culprit is a teacher, one who’s given her an insufficient mark. I know how she stresses about her grades, especially with college applications. I consider paying him a visit, though at the end of the day, a disembowelled educator will do little to advance her own academic career, only satiate my desire for justice. She’s a most intelligent little human, eager to learn and engage with the world around her. I’m reminded of my own lust for life at that age, my own sense of wonder which I’ve since shed like snakeskin. When you’ve lived as long as I have, when you’ve seen as much as I have, there is little wonder left. You must find it in the strangest places, like a tiny human with a gleaming smile and a wit too quick for her own good.

 

I’ve come to learn that she hates it when she doesn’t get her way. It’s just another thing we have in common. I smile and watch her turn on her stereo system. Loud, pulsating music fills the room and I can feel the bass pounding all the way from where I lurk. I can’t say I really understand her taste in music, although it does suit her. There’s a steady ebb and flow, a sensuality that speaks to her own, fluid movements. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human move quite the same way and my eyes flicker as I watch her saunter over towards the window, towards me. I become eerily still, waiting to see if I’ve been discovered. I’m relieved when I realize she’s merely opening her window for ventilation. She sits upon the windowsill, joint between her fingers as she blows steady puffs of smoke into the night sky and stares pensively at the moon. It would be too easy for me to leap forward and make my presence known and there’s a part of me that considers it, but I ultimately choose to linger in my cloak of night and branches.

 

One day, when her parents are gone, she brings a girl home. 

 

Her name is Emi. She’s a student at the local university and a year older than Cosima. Sometimes, Cosima lies about going to Scott’s house to play her game and instead ventures to whatever bar or basement the raven-haired girl is playing in. I can certainly see the appeal— Emi is rebellious and open, daring and explosive. She walks with a swagger and speaks with bravado, though not the endearing kind that Cosima possesses. _No._ Hers is presumptuous and much too abrasive for my taste. The second I lay eyes upon her, my contempt for the girl only grows. Perhaps it’s the smell which churns my stomach and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth— the scent of arousal is strong, too strong for my liking. They sit on Cosima’s bed, conversing, and as I watch them giggle at each other’s stories, watch them exchange heated yet tentative glances, I have half a mind to turn away and leave. When Emi leans over and presses her lips to Cosima’s, my nostrils flare and my eyes burn red. I immediately shoot to attention, tempted to burst through the window to put a stop to it. I quickly wrack my mind for a less-invasive solution to this problem, my eyes scanning the surrounding area. 

 

The idea comes to me quickly and I dart around to the back of the house where a large maple tree is waiting. I spring halfway up the tree with ease, clinging to the trunk for support. With my arms locked securely around the trunk, pure power surges through me and my muscles tighten, ripping the tree in half with a loud crack and relatively little effort on my part. Staring below, I toss the top half to the ground and watch as it lands upon the patio, crushing the deck and patio furniture. I move quickly, certain that the noise will disrupt the girls and draw their attention. Sure enough, only moments later, they’re both standing in the doorway.

 

“Holy fucking shit!” Cosima blurts, her eyes wide and mouth gaping. “What the hell happened?”

 

Emi cautiously opens the sliding glass door to survey the damage. There isn’t much space for her to maneuver as she squints through the darkness over to the remains of the maple tree, now nothing more than a stump.

 

“That’s weird,” she remarks. “I mean, sometimes this can happen when lightning strikes or whatever.”

 

“Did you see any lightning?” Cosima counters. “We haven’t had a storm in weeks.”

 

“I know.”

 

Cosima expels an exasperated sigh.

 

“I guess I should try to clean this up.”

 

“You gonna move a tree on your own, Xena?” Emi teases.

 

Cosima steps out onto the patio, carefully tiptoeing around the broken glass and planks of wood. 

 

“Well, my parents are totally gonna bug when they see this. I should, like, try to clean up some of the broken glass at least,” she concludes.

 

Emi nods.

 

“Do you want any help?”

 

“Nah, it’s fine. You should probably take off,” Cosima dismisses her. “I don’t wanna bore you. Besides, you aren’t supposed to be here, either. They’ll be twice as pissed if they find out the patio’s trashed _and_ I’m inviting girls over without their permission.”

 

I smirk, pleased at my success.

 

“Girls? Plural?” Emi asks with an arched brow.

 

Cosima grins, her shoulders shrugging.

 

“You know me. Always the lady-killer.”

 

Emi smirks, stepping even closer and replacing my own smirk with a scowl. She pulls Cosima in closely and steals a heavy kiss from her, her undeserving tongue plundering the brunette’s mouth. When she finally pulls away, Cosima is left dazed and breathless.

 

“I’ll catch you later, babe,” Emi whispers huskily.

 

She leaves Cosima standing like a gaping fool while she slides back through the glass door and into the house, heading for the front door. As if on cue, I’m already on the move, moving along the side of the house in a flash and prepared to meet her as soon as she steps through the front door. She comes creeping through the door and down the porch steps, not noticing me at first. As soon as she does, I can almost hear her heart stop in her chest.

 

“Jesus!” she exclaims, stumbling back in surprise. “You scared the shit out of me!”

 

She’s just barely taller than Cosima but I still tower over her, my face cold and impervious as I attempt to intimidate her, to appear as menacing as possible. This is quite difficult for me, as my physical appearance alone does nothing to convey the creature which lurks beneath. I don’t like to think of myself as vain, but while I was living, I always attracted the attention of men, was always told I would make the most beautiful bride. Strangely enough, since my transformation, I seem to only attract more attention. I was always pale but in death, my skin has taken on a marble tone which only serves to emphasize the redness of my lips and the deep hazel of my eyes. My hair frames my face with golden curls, giving me a much softer appearance which is quite misleading. From a single glance, no one would ever suspect the violence I’m capable of. 

 

Emi certainly doesn’t.

 

She eyes me cautiously, aware that something is amiss though unable to place it. 

 

“What is it? What do you want?” she asks, waiting for me to state my purpose. “Who are you?”

 

I step closer to her, hazel eyes locking with brown ones which slowly dilate as she becomes ensnared in my trap. I command her full attention, the young musician unable to look away as she waits for me to speak.

 

“You’re going to go home,” I instruct, my eyes never leaving hers, my tone deep and rigid. “You’re going to go to bed. And when you wake up in the morning, you’ll forget all about Cosima.”

 

I take one last step, removing the space between us as I hold her gaze, both of us unblinking. It would be so easy for me to lean forward— to bury my teeth in the softness of her neck which houses her hot, racing pulse— but discretion has served me well for so many years and I’m not willing to oust myself just to bathe in the satisfaction of her blood.

 

“You won’t call her anymore. You won’t respond to her messages,” I continue. “In fact, the very mention of her name repulses you. Do you understand?”

 

She nods slowly. When I finally break her gaze, she breathes deeply once again and blinks multiple times, attempting to adjust to my newfound influence. And then she turns and leaves, presumably heading home, though it’s hardly my concern.

 

A satisfied smile slips out.

 

I’m fully aware of the line I’ve crossed, but I can hardly bring myself to care. After time spent observing her, I know this Emi will bring nothing but trouble to Cosima. Whatever heartbreak the cheeky girl might experience, I’m certain it will only be temporary and fade into the background with time. If she has any hope of pursuing her dreams, of becoming a respected scientist, she’ll have to keep her focus and study hard. Such distractions will only get in the way of her and the world, and I intend for her to have it all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t long before summer is upon us and even quicker than it appears does it bleed into the fall once more. With the nights cut short, I don’t get as much time with her as I would like, but I suppose it can’t be helped. She’s packing up her room, deciding what she will take with her as she ventures out into the world on her own, university-bound and bursting with nerves. Childish comforts are left behind— she needs to make a big impression, she needs to make a transition. I watch her with a smile as she spends her final night at home tightly packing her bags and boxes with all that she can fit.

 

She sleeps uneasily that night, equal parts anxious and excited. 

 

I return to my own bed just before morning breaks and I find myself as anxious as the soon-to-be-completely-independent Cosima. In mere hours, she’ll be gone. In mere hours, the strange focus of these many past months will be so many miles away, out of my icy grasp and keen eyes. I have no doubt that she’ll succeed on her own, but that isn’t what has me in such a state.

 

_What will I do once Cosima is gone?_

 

Surely I had a life before her, but can I really go back to that? Do I really want to? What did that life consist of? A handful of months is like the blink of an eye for someone as old as me and yet, I can’t seem to remember anything substantial before I accidentally stumbled upon her. I tightly grip my bedsheets, clutching them to my cold body.

 

_What if I…?_

 

I spring up in my bed, filled with a newfound vigour.

 

What’s really keeping me in this place? What’s tying me down? I’ve no family to speak of and I haven’t had a job in years, my last one providing me with more than sufficient compensation. Must I really go back to nights spent cooped up alone with a book and a bottle of wine? Or watching strangers live lives I can never live myself? 

 

_It’s decided._

 

I kick the sheets from my body and find my feet once more. I don’t have very many possessions, so packing them up should prove to be an easy trial to overcome. 

 

Perhaps this is a foolish decision. 

 

Perhaps it’s an uncharacteristically naive one. 

 

But what do I really have to lose?

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Wow! I'm super glad you guys are all on board with this one :) Here's the next chapter.

I have no idea what I’m doing in a place like this.

 

I enjoyed these sorts of events very little when I was living and even less so now. With so much incessant, meaningless chatter and falsities filling one space, even my atrophied lungs have a hard time finding room to breathe. Humans have this terrible need to fill every possible crevice with their noise, perhaps in an attempt to make themselves seem larger, like an ape screeching and beating on its chest; one might mistake this for a need to impress, but it’s merely an imposition, a desperate ploy to thrust oneself into everyone else's way in the hopes of making some sort of impact, no matter how big or small. I wonder if I was ever so ignorant, so brash. 

 

Then again, here I am— chasing impossibilities.

 

I watch as they dance and strut around each other like peacocks, a sea of faceless young men and women buzzing and laughing and drinking while insufferable music plays in the background. There’s only one face I see and it’s on the far side of the room, lit up with a smile as she laughs at whatever story the boy adjacent to her is currently sharing. I nurse a glass of cheap wine, my lips a straight line as I linger in the corner by a table with rows of food and drinks, debating whether or not I should call it an early evening. 

 

I’ve come just to observe, to get a feel for my new home and make sure it’s secure. I had taken care to do my research before wandering blindly into uncharted territory. The thing about my kind is that we’re quite territorial; we don’t take kindly to strangers barging into our homes unannounced. I had been the only one back home, but as with most large cities, the population is diverse— more diverse than the common person might suspect. I had monitored the news and dug through archives for any piece of data that would signal the presence of another, though I found no glaring indication. You see, while many of us choose to tread carefully, to make as few messes as possible and clean up the ones we do make with great haste and care, others lack this foresight. Others— often fledglings— lose themselves in the impulse to feed. They leave large, bloody footprints that may fly under a human’s ignorant radar, but not ours. Even with no such footprints present, I know this doesn’t mean this city is free of threats. There could be others like myself who practice a great degree of discipline, but even if this is the case, I won’t be deterred. The truth is that I’m much, much older than most others on this side of the Atlantic anyway, so any threat my brethren may pose is very minimal.

 

Even still, it is important to familiarize oneself with one’s surroundings, so I find my nights spent pacing the campus, drifting through downtown, wandering all across the bustling metropolis. I’m beginning to grow quite comfortable in my new home and its security, but I still keep a close eye on Cosima just in case.

 

“Hey.”

 

I turn my body to face the speaker, finding a pair of green eyes gazing back at me and a (what some might consider attractive) crooked smile to match. He’s a young man, his face clean-shaved and his hair a sandy blond, standing quite a few inches taller than myself with a body that’s toned and sturdy. He’s the kind of boy one would consider traditionally attractive, who’s probably used to having women throw themselves at his feet just for a chance to gaze upon his dimpled cheeks, his angular jaw.

 

“I noticed you were here alone,” he speaks, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m Dan.”

 

I stare down at the appendage, tempted to rip it from him for disturbing me. Then I remember where I am, remember that I must be civil. I peer over his shoulder in search of Cosima only to find that she’s stepping outside with a group of three others. Not wanting to lose sight of her, I offer Dan an extremely forced smile and hope that it will be enough to placate him.

 

_“Excuse moi,”_ I mutter, setting my glass upon a table and attempting to step around him.

 

He eagerly back-pedals, barring my path with his smile still in place. 

 

“You’re French, huh? That’s hot.”

 

I arch a brow, confused by his words, my annoyance quickly growing.

 

“I’m sorry?” I counter.

 

“I’ve never met anyone who’s French before,” he adds, laughing at what I can only assume is his own stupidity.

 

Every second I waste with this fool is a second Cosima slips even further away from me. I release an agitated sigh, making my irritation known to my aggressor… or at least attempting to. Any well-adjusted individual with even a shred of common sense would have easily been able to pick up on my not-so-subtle hint, but this boy is either too arrogant or too foolish to notice. 

 

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, my tone pointed.

 

“Oh. Uh, it’s nothing,” he shrugs, trying his best to maintain a charming demeanour. “I-I just thought you might like some company.”

 

I frown, deciding to abandon this whole “civil” route. One thing I’ve come to learn with men like this is that you must be firm and direct— it’s the only way to permeate that glossy bubble which houses their ego.

 

“You thought wrong,” I say flatly.

 

With that, I step around him once again and continue on my way.

 

“Geez,” I hear him mutter under his breath from behind me. “You know, you don’t gotta be so brutal about it.”

 

I freeze, turning around to face him once again.

 

“Apparently I do, since you still seem to think I’m interested in continuing this conversation,” I retort.

 

My words are like a sharp jab to the gut, though he recovers fairly quickly and finds his fire.

 

“Wow. Has anyone ever told you you’re a total bitch?” he spits through gritted teeth.

 

I smirk.

 

“It’s come up a few times.”

 

He seems to finally understand because instead of continuing to badger me, he turns around and heads in the opposite direction like a scolded dog, finally granting me the peace I’ve been seeking. There are a few sets of eyes that have settled upon me, young men and women who’ve taken note of my abrasiveness, some covering their mouths to mask their laughter and others whispering amongst themselves. I realize that I’ve probably made more of a spectacle of myself than I intended, that it’s wise for me to make my exit; the last thing I need is anyone looking too closely or causing even more of a scene. 

 

Having determined that there are no threats lurking in this sad excuse for a mixer, I quickly stalk towards the door. I reach for the handle, only the door flies open from the other side before I have time to grip it. I halt in the doorway and am met a split-second later by a petite body crashing into my own, nearly toppling over in the process. Before she has time to fall back onto her rear, I reach forward and catch her, gripping her by the biceps and holding her in place. The second my hands land upon her skin, I feel a heat radiate through my body and I immediately recognize my mistake.

 

“Shit— sorry!” she exclaims, shaking the momentary shock away.

 

I release her, though I’m unable to step away and carve a space between us. Instead I just stare— curious, enraptured. When she finally looks up at me and meets my gaze, I see the same sentiments reflected back at me in depths of deep amber, reminiscent of precious stones I’d been gifted so long ago. 

 

“Have…,” she begins, cocking her head in… _recognition? “_ Have we met before?”

 

My pupils dilate, my canines ache and tease at the surface.

 

“Cause I feel like I totally—”

 

“You must be mistaken,” I quickly interrupt her, finding the strength somewhere deep within to push by her and continue on my way.

 

I keep pushing forward, too cowardly to even look back. It’s hardly necessary, though; I can feel her gaze on me, following until I bleed out of her line of vision and into the darkness of the night, once again.

 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

 

The second time we meet, I’m hardly expecting it. 

 

She’s gotten into the healthy habit of spending her Tuesday and Thursday nights studying at the library for a few hours. When she’s finished, I (unbeknownst to her) walk with her all the way until she’s reached her apartment safely. As I linger in the quad, settled upon a bench with my nose buried in a book, I assume I have at least a couple of hours before she comes bouncing out of the library, prepared to retire for the evening. 

 

This time, it’s only been a mere forty-five minutes before she slips quietly out the front. If my nose wasn’t so attuned with her scent, I might have missed her altogether, but I manage to catch a whiff of her carried upon an autumn breeze and I immediately look up from my novel to find her approaching me with a wide smile.

 

“Hey! It’s you.”

 

I freeze, uncertain of how to respond. A part of me is ecstatic that she’s finally noticed me, that she’s actively engaging me, but I also know how dangerous it is to fly too closely to the sun— especially for my kind. 

 

She mistakes my hesitation for confusion.

 

“Do you remember me? From the party?” she prods. “I’m the one that sorta crashed into you.”

 

“I remember you,” I respond almost immediately, closing my book.

 

Her smile grows and I tuck my paperback beneath my arm and rise to my feet, gaining a few inches on her. She shifts her heavy bag from one shoulder to the other, giggling rather awkwardly.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything,” she says. “I just realized that I never got your name.”

 

My eyes quickly rake over her, taking note of her eagerness, the way she so subtly leans towards me as she speaks, the way her eyes quickly drop to take in the shape of my lips before meeting my gaze again. I recognize all of these signs and I can’t help but smile.

 

“Delphine,” I answer, bowing my head slightly in greeting.

 

She nods enthusiastically, nearly bursting at the seams.

 

“I’m Cosima.”

 

My grin spreads wider, my hand extends. 

 

_“Enchantée,”_ I respond instinctively.

 

A light blush creeps over her as she reaches out and accepts my hand.

 

_“E-Enchantée.”_

 

I’m unable to withhold the tiniest chuckle as I hear her try the word out for herself, mull it over before spitting it back at me with a foreigner’s tongue. Even so, I can’t help but find it endearing. She maintains her grasp for an elongated moment, her fingers lightly twitching. Like before, I can feel her heat begin to seep into me, sparking secret parts of me to life. I feel her pulse thrum, I can even hear it with my focused ears. I quickly recant before the situation has a chance to grow.

 

“So… do you, like, live around here or something?” she asks, staring down at her now-free hand as she attempts to keep the conversation going. “Do you take classes, too?”

 

“Oh, no,” I shake my head. “I’m not a student.”

 

“Then why were you at the mixer?” she counters.

 

I pause.

 

It dawns on me that perhaps I’m giving too much away. I promised myself I would never engage with her directly— the repercussions would be too severe for the both of us. Even with this promise in mind, I can’t fight the urge I have to reach out, to meet her halfway in this strange connection we seem to share.

 

“Scoping out the hotties, huh?” she teases, her tongue peeking out from behind her teeth.

 

I freeze. 

 

Is that really what she thinks this is? Is that why she thought I was at the party? I suppose it’s better than her knowing the truth, but deep down I long to shake her, to insist that these eyes would never dare to wander. 

 

“Sorry,” she mutters, sensing my sudden discomfort.

 

“My… _cousin,_ ” I respond, developing my lie as I go along. “She just started at the university. My aunt asked me to check in on her, to make sure she’s okay.”

 

She nods in understanding.

 

“You’re a good cousin, then.”

 

I shrug, unable to really expand. The thing I’ve learned about lies is that the more elaborate they become, the greater the risk of becoming entangled in them; it’s best to keep them as simple as possible, provide only the necessary details. 

 

“So… if you’re not a student, then what do you do?”

 

“I’m a doctor.”

 

Not entirely a lie. 

 

While it’s been a while since I’ve practiced, I do possess my doctorate and once put my skills to good use.   I don’t imagine I’ll ever return to it, however— my love of science and discovery has been tainted by another.

 

“What? No shit!” she exclaims, excited by my revelation. “What’s your field?”

 

“Immunology,” I say rather simply.

 

She’s all spark and go again, her hands lifting into the air to emphasize her excitement. I know full well about her own desire to pursue her doctorate, to become a geneticist. Her eyes shine with enthusiasm, her brain bursting with a thousand questions.

 

“That’s crazy! I mean, not that I don’t think you’re capable or anything, but… you’re just so young,” she comments.

 

I laugh, securely tucking one of my curls behind my ear. It’s very easy for me to forget about my youthful appearance. In reality, I look no more than a few years older than the grinning brunette, perhaps somewhere in my mid-twenties to most onlookers. 

 

“I was very involved in my studies. Very focused,” I explain.

 

And I had been. But having centuries at your disposal to study and learn and develop doesn’t hurt, either. With so much time on my hands, it was easy to lose myself in academia. At one point, it provided perhaps my only relief.

 

“Man. I wish I had your discipline,” she sighs, toying with the strap on her bag.

 

I offer her another smile, this one a gesture of reassurance.

 

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You appear quite clever.”

 

“Hah. Yeah, but I sorta get distracted really easily. It’s a real problem,” she laughs at herself. “I need to keep my grades up so I can keep my scholarship and get into grad school and all that shit. It’s sort of a lot of pressure.”

 

I watch as her brow furrows, her lips arching downward into a frown. It bothers me to see her so doubtful of her own abilities, so anxious about her future. I’m tempted to reach forward and grip her tightly, to tell her the future has such wonderful things in store for her, that she needn’t stress or worry so long as I’m near. Instead, I feel something else rise to the surface. It’s foolish, but I can’t seem to stop the suggestion from escaping.

 

“I… I could help you.”

 

“Huh?” she asks, looking up into my eyes again.

 

I falter, and it’s an incredible thing. _I never falter._ Yet with her gazing up at me with wide and wondrous eyes, I suddenly feel strangely self-conscious, like the bumbling teenager I once was— uncertain in her words and her body, insecure in her place in the world.

 

“I-If you need help— with your coursework,” I clarify. “I could help you.”

 

I watch as her grin returns to her.

 

“What? Like, be my study buddy?”

 

Yes, I’m completely aware of how foolish this really is. I promised myself no contact and here I am, reaching out like child, desperate for attention. But if I can help, if I can make Cosima’s life just a little bit easier, then don’t I have an obligation to do so? Or perhaps I’m digging for whatever half-hearted excuse I can find to be near. 

 

“Is that what they call it now?” I quip with a half-smile that easily disarms the girl.

 

“Nah. I-I couldn’t ask,” she politely declines. “You already have your doctorate. And you’re probably busy, being a doctor and all.”

 

“I have more free time than you’d think,” I shrug. “I don’t mind at all.”

 

“Really?”

 

She stares at me in disbelief, as if someone might be playing an elaborate prank on her. Her trustful and naive nature has gotten her hurt in the past, so she’s come to expect some sort of catch, some sort of ulterior motive. And perhaps I do have one— while I am genuinely interested in assisting her anyway I can, my desire for closeness is perhaps my most driving factor. 

 

“I… don’t know many people here,” I confess. “I just moved, so I don’t really have any friends.”

 

There’s a sincerity to my words, one I haven’t heard in many, many years. It even catches me off guard, but when her smile explodes upon her face again, I’m able to shake the feeling. I realize that she’s able to recognize this feeling— this strange isolation that comes from being… well… _different_. She may be a human, but there’s undoubtedly something different about this girl, something that separates her from all others. Perhaps _this_ is her true draw.

 

Who really knows?

 

“Me, too.”

 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

 

 

“Hey. Thanks for all your help with this. Seriously.”

 

Her words are an afterthought, a quiet chirping that tickles at the back of my brain as I lean over her shoulder, inspecting her work. Textbooks and notebooks are strewn across her desk in a seemingly chaotic fashion (she insists there’s some sort of order) and the dim light from her desk lamp illuminates her profile as my eyes casually drift from her course work to the slope of her neck which lay just inches before me.

 

“It’s my pleasure,” I whisper, my tongue darting out to wet my lips.

 

She must feel my breath on her skin because she shivers then, her eyes fluttering as I take note of her thumping jugular. It takes every ounce of control I posses to pull away, to forbid myself from inhaling the fullness of her sweet scent. As soon as I’ve placed some distance between us, she turns in her chair, composing herself.

 

“So… what do you do for fun?” she asks, toying with her pen.

 

_“Pardon?”_

 

The questions catches me off guard.

 

“I mean, when you’re not busy being a doctor or helping my hopeless ass,” she adds.

 

“I don’t really have much of a social life, to be honest,” I answer truthfully.

 

In fact, my entire social life revolves around these “study sessions” we’ve been having. I assumed that after a couple of hours in her presence, I’d have better control over my… _inclinations,_ but instead I find just the opposite; here we are, session number three, and I’m still just barely able to reign myself in every time I get too close. It’s a vicious cycle, really— I lean in just a little too near and her heart begins racing, beckoning me even closer. When I pull away, it becomes even more pronounced, the sound of her steady thrumming echoing within the hollow walls of this space I so consciously cleave between us.

 

“Really? Geez,” she mutters. “You’re, like, totally gorgeous. And smart. And super nice. If someone like _you_ doesn’t have any friends, what hope do the rest of us have?”

 

Her compliments rouse a smile from me as I stare down at her.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for most people these days,” I admit.

 

“Yeah. I get that.”

 

“I prefer my solitude,” I say. “I’ll take a good book and a bottle of wine by the fire any day.”

 

She laughs and I arch a brow in her direction.

 

“Dude, you’re so fucking French it almost hurts.”

 

“W-What’s wrong with that?” I ask, my voice sounding distinctively like a whine.

 

“Nothing. I’m just kidding,” she laughs with a wave of her hands, dismissing her previous comment. “It sounds nice, actually.”

 

She leans back in her chair, tossing her pen atop the desk and stretching her arms high over her head, using the back of the chair to stretch her spine. My eyes are unable to ignore the slight expanse of skin that’s revealed as a result of her stretching, her shirt riding higher to expose her midriff.

 

“I like people,” she absently remarks. “I like going out, getting to know them— or at least _trying_ to. I feel like I’m always trying to get to know people but I never really, like, _know them._ You know?”

 

I smile again.

 

“You’re not missing very much, _cherie_. Trust me.”

 

The pet name slips out just as quickly as her smile spreads across her face upon hearing it. It takes me a second to realize it’s escaped but once I do, I become stone-faced again. I’m being too careless with this girl, allowing her presence to intoxicate me, incapacitate me. Dropping my guard is a dangerous notion and something I must be more aware of.

 

“I don’t think that’s true. I think there’s a lot more to people than you give them credit for.”

 

She locks eyes with me again and some unnameable force ignites between us, something neither of us fully comprehends but recognizes nonetheless. I can feel my eyes begin to burn black, growing darker the longer we maintain eye contact. _I wonder if she notices, too?_

 

“You know what? I’m hungry,” she finally speaks, ripping her attention away from me to reach for her cell phone. “Are you hungry? We should order takeout.”

 

Now that she mentions it, I _am_ rather hungry. I made sure to feed before I came just to ensure that my hunger wouldn’t get the best of me, but I find my appetite oddly voracious. I usually don’t require such frequent feedings, but I know better than to deny the call once it’s heard.

 

“Actually,” I speak, clearing the hoarseness from my voice. “I should be going. It’s getting late.”

 

I can tell she's disappointed, but she’s able to shake it off rather quickly.

 

“Oh. Okay. Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

 

I nod, offering her one last smile before seeing myself out.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Sorry this one is a little late. I've been super busy lately, needed time to go through and edit it. I was going to make it longer, but I ended up breaking it up since it made the flow of the chapter really weird. Buuuuut, the next chapter will be up very soon, I promise! It'll be a double update week, so enjoy :)

 

The sound of a distinct yet gentle buzzing pulls me from the haze of my slumber, eliciting a groan of discontent from my lips. Without even lifting my head, I extend my arm to the far right, fumbling as I search for the source of the irritant which is settled somewhere atop the nightstand. When my hand comes to clutch the vibrating phone, I draw it near and crack one eye open to gaze upon the caller’s name.

 

“Cosima,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep.

 

It’s a statement rather than a question— there’s no need for confirmation. I stretch my limbs like a cat post-nap, hoping the gesture will further rouse me from my state of mild disorientation. As I do so, a groan slips out, a wave of mild pleasure shooting through my body as each muscle is drawn taut.

 

“Hey,” she replies, her grin audible. “Did I wake you?”

 

“I was just—” 

 

I stop myself for a moment, glancing at the time on the digital clock and realizing that it’s much too late in the afternoon for any regular person to be sleeping. 

 

“Taking a nap,” I finish.

 

She laughs.

 

“It’s, like, three o’clock in the afternoon. Don't you have work to do or something?” she teases.

 

“Cheeky,” I retort, unable to contain my smirk of amusement as I sit up in my bed and run a hand through my unruly locks. “You had your last midterm today, yes? How did it go?”

 

“It was good. Everything went awesome. I’m sure I aced all of them.”

 

I nod, displaying my pride despite the fact she can’t see me. 

 

“That’s good to hear,” I tell her. “There was never a doubt in my mind.”

 

Even without me assisting her with her studies over the course of the last couple of months, I’m certain she still would have come out on top, though I won’t deny the immense pleasure and confusion our sessions have brought me. Just being in her presence— being able to sit next to her and listen while she rambles on, while I get a better sense of how that magnificent mind of hers works— is more than enough, more than I ever hoped for. 

 

But then, at the same time, _it just isn’t._

 

How could it ever be? How could I sit next to her, our bodies just shy of touching, and not want more? _Not crave more?_ Not succumb to that familiar voice in the back of my head which is constantly daring me forward? How could I not want _everything?_

 

“Well, you’re sort of an awesome tutor,” she giggles, the sound drawing me back from my dark thoughts. “So awesome, in fact, that I feel kinda bad about exploiting your expertise.”

 

“Exploiting?” I ask, confused by her use of the word.

 

“Well, you’ve been spending all this time helping me and I can’t even pay you back—”

 

“I told you not to worry. It’s fine. I don’t need money,” I hastily cut her off.

 

“I know, I know,” she dismisses. “But I figured you could at least let me take you out to dinner? You know, as a way of saying thanks?”

 

My brow furrows, my teeth trap my lower lip with a minimal yet steady pressure. 

 

“You… want to go to dinner?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, right?”

 

My teeth sink deeper into my lip with a more crushing pressure until I can taste my own metallic tang. In all this time, I’d never been able to put a word to our relationship; sure, it’s friendly by definition, but does that make us _friends?_ I can barely remember having friends, though I know it didn’t feel anything like this.

 

“Right,” I agree.

 

“And friends do things together. They, like, hang out and go to movies and grab lunch and stuff. They don’t just study all the time.”

 

A valid point, and one that certainly begs the question— is it really so farfetched for me to desire more? 

 

“I suppose that’s true.”

 

As a friend, am I not entitled to movies and lunches and everything else? Why should I not take advantage of everything this friendship has to offer? Because I’m… _different?_ That’s what I’ve been telling myself— that any sort of relationship between us is impossible, that it will only end in disaster. After all, it’s hard to go for lunch when I can’t set foot in the sun, it’s hard to sit next to one another in a crowded theatre when I can hear the steady thrumming of her pulse even louder than the surround sound, like a heart beneath the floorboards hellbent on driving me mad.

 

“Great. So, what do you feel like?”

 

Her usual enthusiasm has returned full-force and it catches me slightly off guard.

 

_“Pardon?”_

 

“For dinner,” she clarifies. “Apparently there’s this really good Ethiopian place near campus. Or we could stick to Italian. That’s pretty safe, right?”

 

I hesitate.

 

Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea.

 

How do I explain myself when I sit across from her with an empty plate? Or if I try my hardest to stomach whatever dish I’m presented with? Not only does my body no longer crave human food, but even a single taste can be enough to induce nausea. When I was a fledgling, I had tried my hardest to push against this like some rebellious child; I’d always had quite the sweet tooth in my youth and was throughly disappointed upon discovering that the simple pleasure of eating delicious food had been forever ripped away from me. The sweetest, ripest berries turn rotten upon my tongue and the softest, fresh-baked delicacies are like coarse sand shredding against my palate. I initially thought that I would regain my appetite, that I could condition myself to enjoy the things I once craved in the same way one acquires a taste for wine with age, but it’s been so many years since my foolish, stubborn reasoning has fallen through and now the only taste to grace my tongue is that of crimson copper.

 

“What is it?” she asks, sensing my reluctance.

 

“Nothing,” I sigh, dejection settling in. “I just… I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing.”

 

“What? _Eating_?”

 

Once again, I find myself ensnared by her voodoo-like charm which draws a soft chuckle from my chest.

 

“I don’t go out very much, I’m afraid,” I admit. “And I’m not nearly as cultured as you seem to think I am.”

 

The last time I observed any sort of tangible company was before she was even born, that much I’m certain of. You see, I’ve been quite careful to distance myself from others after the last. I fear my social skills have grown quite rusty in their idle state and I’m not sure how well I’d fair in a crowded restaurant filled with strangers and all of their loudness. 

 

“Don’t tell me all you eat are crepes and baguettes,” she jabs.

 

“Don’t forget wine,” I play along.

 

“I bet you’ve never even had an eskimo pie.”

 

“Eskimo…”

 

I wrack my mind, searching for an answer associated with the word. I can’t say that in all my years I’ve ever really come across it. Once again, this clever young creature has managed to pique my curiosity.

 

 “Hm. I don’t think I know it.”

 

“Dude, you’re missing out,” she laughs. “I guess I’ll have to show you.”

 

There’s the subtlest hint of suggestion in her voice and it fixes a smirk upon my own. 

 

“I guess so.” 

 

I throw my feet over the edge of my California king, my pale body slipping from satin sheets of deep maroon as I rise and pad over to the full-length mirror with my phone cradled between my ear and my shoulder. Despite the fact that the sun is high in the sky, my room remains completely dark, impervious to daylight; the basement apartment I’ve secured for myself is large and spacious in comparison of most of its counterparts, cozy and comfortable, and with such few windows and exposure to sunlight, perfect for me.

 

“Tell you what— why don’t we check out that fancy French bistro that just opened? That isn’t too far out of your element, is it?” she suggests.

 

“It’s too expensive,” I remark.

 

“Don’t worry about it. I have _some_ money saved up,” she counters. “And what better way to spend it than actually eating real food? I hate to say it, but I think I’m finally getting sick of ramen.”

 

As I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, eyes trailing over my nude, unmarred skin. I swear I can see the faintest bloom of blush begin to rise to the surface, or perhaps my eyes are simply deceiving me. Even with my reservations, I find myself bending to her will.

 

“Okay.”

 

I can hear her beaming smile once again and I know that it’ll be worth it if I can somehow make this work.

 

“Awesome! I’ve got a meeting with one of my advisors, but why don’t we meet there around seven? Do you know where it is?”

 

“I’ll figure it out.”

 

We say our farewells and she leaves me alone to myself, alone to ponder how I’m going to prepare for this evening. As I dig through my wardrobe for something to wear— something elegant yet not too flashy— a thought crosses my mind. I stare back at my reflection in the mirror, drag my fingers through my tousled hair, deciding that perhaps a change is in order.

 

 

\+ + + +

 

 

I stand in front of the restaurant for several minutes, waiting for any sign of Cosima with my hands tucked into the pockets of my black wool peacoat. Truth be told, I don’t really require the extra layers in the face of the cold which has settled in, but it’s important to maintain appearances, to blend in with the masses. I watch as a young couple walks hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, their breaths visible with each exhalation. I try to remember what such a heat feels like, try to remember warmth upon my tongue, but it’s been so long since anything other than racing hot plasma has brought me any semblance of heat.

 

“Hey! Sorry I’m late!”

 

I whip around to spot Cosima running at me from down the street, her short, stockinged legs carrying her as fast as they can go and a long, scarlet coat clinging to her body and protecting her from the cold. When she finally stops before me, she’s nearly out of breath and my eyes remain fixated on every sharp burst that escapes, the heat from her lungs clinging to the air. There’s so much of it, I wonder if perhaps it would be possible to borrow some— would she miss it like I do? Would she even notice that it’s gone? Or would she lend it to me with a gracious willingness?

 

“You made it,” she proclaims.

 

I smile down at her, flipping my hair out from my face.

 

“Of course I made it. I told you I was coming.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” she retorts, her hands flowing through the air in their own, captivating way. “But you sounded sort of— I don’t know— hesitant?”

 

 

“It’s not you, I promise,” I say, expelling a bare and breathless sigh. “I just don’t get out very much. Going to new places can sometimes be overwhelming.”

 

She nods, offering me a sympathetic smile.

 

“Do you have, like, social anxiety or something?”

 

For a second, I nearly slip. I open my mouth to tell her the truth— that most humans are insufferable and I’ve no real reason to subject myself to the torture of their company, especially for a plate of inedible food—but I catch myself and stop. 

 

I carry so many truths, none of which will do her any good.

 

“I guess you could say that,” is what I end up settling on.

 

She motions towards the door to the restaurant with a nod of her head and even holds it open for me with a toothy grin as I glide through it, waiting for her to slip in after me. As soon as she does, she waltzes right up to the maître d’, a middle-aged man with a rather unimpressed look upon his face.

 

“I have a reservation,” she tells him. “Niehaus, for two.”

 

His frown becomes more pronounced.

 

“You’re late,” he says judgingly.

 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. You know how life gets in the way sometimes,” she laughs, trying her best to charm the man. “Kinda always late, kinda always sorry.”

 

“Your reservation was for seven o’clock, mademoiselle. It’s now…,” he pauses, glancing down to check his watch. “7:16.”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“We are a very busy restaurant and we have plenty of other patrons who are hungry and show up on time. One of them was given your table,” he scolds.

 

She instantly deflates.

 

“Really? Shit,” she mutters. “Is there any way you can squeeze us in somewhere? Any table at all? This is kind of a big deal.”

 

I watch him with an icy glare as he opens his mouth and prepares to spew more rudeness in her direction. At that moment, I step forward and place myself between the two. He gives me a quick once over and as soon as his eyes meet mine, I begin to work a little “magic” of my own.

 

“You must have a table available somewhere,” I speak with glimmering eyes. “Perhaps you can… move some of the reservations around? My friend has just finished her midterms and we’ve a celebration to begin.”

 

As soon as I loosen my hold, he blinks rapidly and nods, gazing down at his book.

 

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he stammers. “I’ll have to move some reservations around, but it’s no problem at all. Come right with me.”

 

Cosima gapes, trailing behind the two of us as the now painfully polite man leads us to a table along the far wall, one that’s slightly more removed from its counterparts (which I’m grateful for). As we begin to remove our coats, he scampers off.

 

“What was that all about?” she asks, undoing the buttons of her coat. “That guy went from total dick-ness to sainthood in, like, twenty seconds.”

 

I smile.

 

“I guess I have a way with people,” I shrug.

 

“I’ll say.”

 

As she finally removes her coat, my eyes immediately dip to take in the dress she’s wearing. It’s a dark navy, clinging to her form in all the right ways and for the first time, I think I actually notice just how perfect a form it really is. I very rarely get the opportunity to see her up close— I admired her from a distance for nearly a year, admired her mind and spirit. Even though our study sessions grant me the desired proximity, my intentions have always remained (mostly) pure; when my eyes dared to wander, it was always to her pulse point, but now I find them settled upon the cleavage of her dress, upon the curve of her hips.

 

“What?” 

 

My attention snaps back to her cocked head, her look of confusion.

 

“You… you look lovely,” I tell her.

 

“O-Oh. Uh, thanks,” she says with a coy smile. “You look awesome, too. I like the hair. It’s a good look for you. Gives me total “head-bitch-in-charge” vibes.”

 

“Head… what?” I laugh, taking my seat across from her.

 

It’s been a long time since I’ve worn my hair like this, not since my days of medicine. I’m not sure what exactly inspired me to change it now, but I absently run my fingers through the length of it and take silent delight in the fact that she likes it, as well.

 

“Good. I mean you look good. Well, you _always_ look good, but you look even better than usual,” she corrects herself. “I guess “great” is the word I’m going for.”

 

Even her stammering— a characteristic that often annoys me in others— is endearing. Our waiter eventually comes around to bring us water and we immediately order a bottle of red wine, something local that we’re promised is very good, though I doubt it even compares to the wine back home. Even still, I’ll readily accept it. While my taste for human food has vanished, I’m grateful every day that I’m still able to enjoy most alcohol (provided it’s not too sweet). I use my influence to halt him before he has a chance to question Cosima’s underage status and her grin is smug when he leaves us, thinking she’s deceived the man.

 

“So, like, you don’t even have any coworkers that you hang out with from time to time?” she asks, sipping her water.

 

“I enjoy my solitude.”

 

“Yeah. You’ve been saying,” she mumbles beneath her breath with a nod. “I guess I just can’t believe that you have _no one_. I mean, everybody has _someone,_ right?”

 

“Not everyone,” I say bluntly.

 

I don’t mean to sound so abrasive but I can tell by the slight drop of her head that my words have struck her in such a way.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “God, that was a bitchy thing to say. I should think more before I speak.”

 

“It’s fine,” I dismiss her.

 

“I-I guess what I should have said was—”

 

“Cosima, it’s fine. I know what you meant,” I insist.

 

With my forgiveness, she’s finally able to lift her eyes and meet my gaze again. I feel a tenderness swell somewhere inside of me but it’s interrupted by our waiter who returns with our wine. After she insists we’ll need a few more minutes to decide what we’d like to order, he slips away again and leaves us with our menus and each other.

 

“It’s like I said before— I moved here the same time you did, I didn’t bring anybody with me,” I explain, resuming our conversation. “And I suppose it would be possible to make friends, but there isn’t anyone I’ve met that I find particularly interesting.”

 

“Except for me, of course,” she boasts.

 

“Except for you,” I laugh.

 

With that, our eyes drop to our respective menus as we try to decide what to order. I suppose it doesn’t really matter at all on my end, but she lifts her gaze every couple of seconds to ask me to pronounce a dish, to explain it to her the best I can. I wonder if she’s really this indecisive or if she’s just enjoying the loops she has me jumping through, forcing my native tongue to surface.

 

“So, _ratatouille_ definitely isn’t rat?” she asks one more time for clarification.

 

“No, _cherie._ It most certainly isn’t.”

 

“Okay. Good. I think I’ll go with that one, then.”

 

It’s one of the few vegetarian options on the menu and I almost laugh at the irony of our situation— her, the devout herbivore and me, the most vicious of carnivores. I settle on the pan-seared foie gras, though it hardly matters. When our waiter arrives once more, we relay our orders and I watch him scurry off again from over the rim of my wine glass.

 

“Why?”

 

I turn to acknowledge Cosima again and a most serious expression crosses her face, her brow furrowed in concentration, eyes focused. It takes her only a second to detect my confusion, to clarify her question.

 

“I’m just some geek monkey who plays Rune Wars in basements and—”

 

“That’s enough of that.”

 

She closes her mouth, her silence punctuated by a few blinks. I set my glass of wine down on the table and sigh.

 

“You’re more than that, Cosima,” I tell her, my gaze heated. “So much more.”

 

We both fall silent and she takes a heavy gulp of wine as my keen eyes watch her closely. She seems too flustered to speak, almost nervous, and I’m afraid that even the sound of my voice will startle her like a grazing doe who’s come to realize she’s trapped in the crosshairs. Luckily the food doesn’t take too long to arrive and our waiter places two elegant, beautifully arranged plates in front of us. 

 

“Geez. They really go all out here, huh?” Cosima comments. “Why do fancy restaurants give you this teeny-tiny portion and make it look super fucking fancy? I mean, I’d rather have a massive portion that looks sloppy than a bite-sized one that looks like Martha Stewart made it.”

 

“Presentation, _cherie,”_ I answer. “Presentation is key.”

 

“You French people are really big on presentation, then?”

 

It’s so hard for me to imagine a time before my current life, but one thing I do remember is always being taught to present myself in a certain way, even as a small child. I remember my parents always chiding me, telling me that appearances were everything, that it was necessary to maintain a certain exterior so that I wouldn’t reflect poorly on the house. I’m not sure I ever truly believed them until I became older— _so much older._ I’ve come to learn that appearances are, indeed, everything; maintaining my appearance as a young, polite, benevolent and unassuming woman— as a human— is of upmost importance. Should my facade ever falter, should my true nature ever be exposed, I fear for not only my own (non) life, but for the life of the brilliant creature sitting across from me, as well.

 

“Appearances are important,” I insist. “Whether we like it or not, we’re judged by them— at least at first. Not everybody has the time or ability to look deeper.”

 

“True. But, like, it isn’t _everything,”_ she argues. “There’s more to people than what just what you see in front of you.”

 

“This is true,” I smile. “But certainly a pleasing demeanour would encourage one to look deeper. I can’t say I’ve ever been truly invested to learn more about a person when they appear so dull or displeasing upon first glance.”

 

She matches my smile.

 

“Yeah,” she nods. “So, what about you? What have you got buried beneath that “pleasing demeanour,” as you so eloquently put it? Anything worth digging for?”

 

I raise my wine glass to my lips.

 

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

 

She tends to her plate of vegetables, conscious of my gaze as she tries to politely find a way to shovel as much food into her mouth as possible without coming off as gluttonous. It’s rather cute and it takes more effort then it probably should for me to restrain my laughter, to let her know that I’m fully aware of what she’s doing. I take great pleasure in watching her eat, strangely enough.

 

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” she prods. “You just keep watching me like some sort of creeper.”

 

She means to tease, but I become very conscious of my own staring and I redirect it to my untouched plate of food. I try my best to subdue my frown as I pick at the duck liver with my fork, breaking off pieces and shuffling them around my plate. I finally spear one on my fork and I raise the piece of flesh to my lips, hesitating, preparing myself for the onslaught to come.

 

“I don’t know how you French people eat all that weird food. Snails and liver and shit? Count me out.”

 

I’m too distracted by the vile piece of meat at my mouth to pay any attention to her words. Clamping my eyes shut, I take the plunge and bite it as quickly as possible, swallowing the entire piece without even bothering to chew. When I feel it slide down my throat, the nausea instantly follows.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

I shake my head, stabbing another small piece with my fork and bringing it to my lips. I take another pained bite, trying to think of anything other than the taste of sour, rotting flesh in my mouth.

 

“Does it taste bad or something?”

 

“N-No. It’s fine…,” I mutter.

 

I stare down at my plate with a grimace, wondering how the hell I’m going to finish this entire plate when two bites is nearly enough to make me spill my stomach.

 

_I’ll finish it because I have to._

 

Because appearances are everything. 

 

“Seriously. You keep making this face like you’re eating dog food,” she remarks, putting her own fork down to shoot me a look of concern. “If you don’t like it, you can just send it back and order something else.”

 

Even if I heeded her advice, it wouldn’t matter. The end result would still be the same. 

 

“I don’t want to be any trouble…”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugs.

 

She can’t seem to wrap her mind around why I continue eating, why I take one more bite when I’m clearly in a state of distress. I feel my stomach begin to convulse as soon as this third piece slides down my throat and I know that I’m trapped now, that I’ve literally bitten off more than I can chew. I rise from my seat with a swiftness, pressing the back of my hand to my lips in a bid to slow the process.  


“I have to go,” I quickly state.

 

“Delphine? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 

I want to respond, but I find myself unable to. Instead I fly out of the restaurant as quickly as possible, abandoning Cosima on what was supposed to be a glorious evening for the both of us. I don’t stop running until I reach an alleyway, quickly darting into it so I can empty the contents of my stomach. Even with the vile food expelled, the taste still lingers, still torments. I know there’s only one way to truly get rid of it— to feed.

 

“You okay, lady?”

 

I lift my head to see an older man standing over me, layers of ragged, dirty clothes keeping him warm. I can tell by the look of him and the shopping cart full of garbage that’s stalled at his side that he must be homeless. 

 

A part of me feels guilty for what I’m about to do.

 

 

 

 


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This was originally supposed to be included in the last chapter, but I ended up breaking it up and making this its own chapter because it just flowed much better this way. Things get a little more... interesting, to say the least. Enjoy ;)

For the second time in less than a week it’s the sound of my phone the draws me back into my strange reality, only this time I can’t claim to have been sleeping, for I’ve found very little peace since I left Cosima at that table. Instead my mind remains conscious yet consumed by a haze, like I’m wading through a hanging costal fog in search of the ocean. I lay awake in bed when I hesitantly reach for the device, holding it in my hand and staring down at it anxiously for a few seconds before deciding to answer it.

 

“Uh… hey. It’s me.”

 

Her voice is different.It doesn’t sound as playful as usual, though I can’t really say she sounds dejected, either. If anything, she sounds reserved, as if she’s treading with extreme caution. She sounds almost as nervous as I feel and it isn’t hard for me to imagine why; after running out on her at dinner, I expect her to be hurt or furious with me.

 

_“Bonjour,_ Cosima.”

 

There’s a brief pause on her end before she finds her words once more.

 

“How are you?”

 

The question sounds strange coming from her and I swallow my shaky nerves.

 

“I’m well.”

 

We’ve never bothered ourselves with pleasantries before and I see through the gesture quite easily, see through this buffer she’s attempting to erect. Should I call her out on it? _No._ That might only reinforce her defences rather than coax her out into the open. As I carefully ponder my words, she breaks our spell of silence first with a string of words that seem to all slip out at once.

 

“Look, I feel really bad about the other night—”

 

“Don’t,” I interrupt, halting her apology before she has a chance to drown me in it. “You don’t have to apologize. _I’m_ the one who should be apologizing.”

 

“Really?”

 

_Merde._

 

Of course she thinks this is somehow her fault. How could I have been so foolish? I should have called her right away instead of allowing all the doubt and guilt to linger in her mind for days. I’m not the first woman in her life to leave the crime scene running; I remember her being upset over Emi after I’d forced the girl away, thinking she’d done something to warrant such a cold response.

 

“I shouldn’t have run out like that, and I should have called you sooner to explain,” I say. “The truth is, I was feeling sick. I didn’t want to make a scene and I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

 

I’ve gotten good at masking my lies within tiny truths. 

 

Only after I’d drained that man dry did the nausea subside. I don’t usually resort to killing my meals— I’d rather take only as much as necessary before casting my spell over them and erasing our encounter from their memory; this method is far more practical as it doesn’t leave me with a body and evidence to dispose of. However, on certain occasions, the second my fangs pierce skin it becomes impossible for me to withdraw them again and it had taken an extensive amount of blood to wash away the vileness that dinner had left in my mouth. By the time the remnants of my putrid meal were gone, I’d found myself with a limp and lifeless body in my arms.

 

“Oh,” she exhales, and I can actually hear the weight of her doubt being lifted from her chest. “You know, I don’t care if you’re sick or whatever. You could have just told me that.”

 

I smile at her patience. 

 

I smile at her kindness.

 

“I know,” I agree. “But… well, I guess I was embarrassed.”

 

When I hear her laughter again, a wave of relief washes over me. In all my years I don’t think I’ve ever quite experienced a dread that’s come close to the one that’s crippled me these last few days, the one that stemmed from the possibility of losing this peculiar human’s friendship. Of all the horrors I’ve witnessed (and even those I took part in), nothing seems to shake me the same way. 

 

“I thought that maybe you were mad at me or something, that I did something wrong. I was gonna call you, but I didn’t wanna crowd you or anything,” she says. “But it’s been, like, four days and I hadn’t heard anything and it was driving me crazy so…”

 

My eyes slowly drift shut and I laugh quietly, more for myself than for her ears. Apparently the very same dread seems to have ensnared her, as well. I always thought this was a distinctly human trait— the art of miscommunication. Other animals don’t seem to have this problem. Even with my kind— with creatures who once felt as humans do, who even wear the remnants of their human origins— it’s always easy to distinguish one’s intentions. We can smell it on each other like a pungent cologne; one look and I know exactly how to respond, whether I’m faced with a friend or foe, whether or not I can lower my guard. There is no coyness in our world, no room for misinterpretation. It’s all so very simple to us, not nearly as messy and complicated as it for humans. And yet, here I find myself entangled in the very same mess of confusion that I thought myself removed from for so many years.

 

“You did nothing wrong. It was just me being a fool,” I reassure her. “Forgive me?”

 

Who would have thought I’d ever be asking for forgiveness? Perhaps I’m not so far beyond my old ways after all.

 

“Forgive you?” she asks in a breath of incredulous laughter. “I was never mad at you in the first place, Delphine.”

 

“Even so, I feel terrible for making you worry.”

 

There must be some way I can make this right, some way to give Cosima a proper celebration, the one she deserved the first time. There must be a way for me to correct my foolishness. I grow silent for a moment as I contemplate, but it doesn’t take me very long before the idea comes slamming into me. I leap from my bed and suddenly I’m pacing, my tongue darting out to wet my lips before my teeth sink into my bottom one and begin to chew excitedly.

 

“I want to make it up to you,” I proclaim. “Will you let me?”

 

“Huh? Make it up to me?” she asks, clearly bemused by my proposition.

 

“Let me take you somewhere— somewhere private. Somewhere away from people and noise, just the two of us.”

 

_“Oh.”_

 

She pauses, and it’s a most gruelling hiatus. I’m as I was so long ago— drained of life, waiting patiently to rise again, for her to beckon me forward through the darkness.

 

“Uh… o-okay.”

 

“ _Bon!”_ I say enthusiastically, my native tongue slipping out. _“_ I have a place in mind.”

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

“You know, there’s not gonna be a surprise if I fall and break my neck before I get there,” she quips, careful of each step as she ascends the seemingly never-ending staircase. “Did you really have to walk me up, like, five hundred flights of stairs?”

 

I follow closely behind, anticipation bubbling in the pit of my belly. I’m unable to contain my smile as I watch her short legs slowly carry her up the stairs, closer towards our destination. I’ll admit, the trip has been lengthy and perhaps I should have thought this through just a little more, for Cosima doesn’t posses my strength, speed or stamina. Moving at a human’s pace is quite tiresome but even still, I hold onto my patience.

 

“I won’t let you fall,” I promise her, my hands gripping the rails on either side of us, creating an effective barrier between her and everything beneath us.

 

She stops momentarily, her head dropping as she expels a sigh.

 

“Doesn’t this place have an elevator?”

 

“No risk, no reward,” I tell her, motioning for her to continue. “We’re almost there.”

 

We reach the top and I slip by her in the narrow stairwell until I’m the one in front. She arches a brow in my direction, undoubtedly wondering what it is I have planned. I offer her a smile before I turn my back on her so I can push the heavy steel door open with ease. As soon as it swings open, we’re met by a blast of frigid air and I step outside, holding the door open for her to follow. She clutches herself for warmth as she steps through the threshold and her eyes immediately begin scanning her surroundings.

 

“Just over here,” I tell her, stepping out further onto the rooftop.

 

I’m relieved when I see my preparations are still intact; the canopy remains fastened securely, as do the fairy lights which are housed in paper lanterns. The weather hadn’t been too severe when I’d come earlier to set it all up, but the temperature is slowly beginning to drop as the night becomes darker. I venture over to the small oasis and she follows with a large grin spread across her face.

 

“This is unreal,” she comments, twisting her head around to take in the stellar view of the city we’re afforded from the rooftop. “You did all of this?”

 

I nod.

 

“It’s one of the best views of the city,” I tell her.

 

I’d come across this place on one of my midnight prowls back when this was all so new, before we’d even met. Cosima had gone to bed early that night and I’d found myself out wandering the streets, learning the terrain. Rooftops are the easiest way to move around unnoticed and also the easiest way to familiarize oneself with one’s surroundings. All of the world looks so small from so high up, so easily accessible. 

 

Tonight, she will see the world as I do.

 

“Yeah. It’s totally awesome,” she replies. “Way better than some stuffy restaurant.”

 

She finally catches up, stopping directly in front of me as I stand under the canopy. She gives the setup a quick once over, her eyes darting beyond me to take note of the blankets and pillows I’ve set out, catching sight of the bottle of wine just waiting to be opened.

 

“Really? Blankets and a bottle of wine?” she asks with a smirk. “Romantic.”

 

“I figured we’d skip dinner this time, go straight to drinks,” I retort with a level of nonchalantness that’s accompanied by a shrug, meant to mask my fervour.

 

“Works for me.”

 

_It is rather romantic, isn’t it?_

 

I’d wanted to show her something special, show her a view so few people ever had a chance to see. But that hadn’t been enough. I wanted to make something for her, as well; make a space for her, for the both of us— untouched by the world, even if it is only momentary. 

 

It would be my way of thanking her.

 

The wine had been an afterthought, but as she teases me with a twitch of her lips and a subtle spark in her eyes, I realize how bold such a gesture really is and I swallow hard. She comes brushing by, setting herself down upon a pile of softness and beckoning for me to do the same. I find my boldness once again and sit myself down next to her, reaching for the bottle to open it. I pour us each a glass and hand one to her, which she accepts with a whispered, “thank you” and a quick flash of white.

 

We get to talking.

 

She asks me about the quickly approaching holidays, about my plans. I speak honestly, tell her that I have nothing concrete in the works. With no family or ties of my own, Christmas means very little to me. She tells me that she’s going home for a few days to see her parents, that she dreads staying too long in the town she’s outgrown. I tell her that I understand her feelings with a crystal clarity; my own home has been so changed with time, I doubt I’d even recognize it if I were to return now. But why would I want to? There’s nothing left for me in such a place. It’s why I left Europe altogether.

 

It isn’t until we get a little more than halfway through the bottle that I start to notice the effects of the alcohol slowly appear within the petite girl. I sometimes forget how young she is, how small she is, how a couple of glasses of wine are enough to flood her cheeks with a warmth that I can smell, the sweetness of her blood clinging so closely to the surface. I allow my gaze to lecherously linger upon her fully-bloomed face, her lips stained deep red from the wine. Perhaps she notices my staring because she stops speaking mid-sentence, a pronounced shiver ripping through her body. She sets her empty glass to the side and clutches one of the blankets, pulling it tighter against her in a bid to allude me, to pass this all off as a product of the cold.

 

“You’re cold?” I ask with a cock of my head.

 

She nods.

 

“How are you not freezing?”

 

I smile coyly.

 

“The cold doesn’t bother me so much,” I tell her. “I’ve traveled quite a lot, lived in places much colder than this.”

 

I finish the remnants of my glass and set it aside. I’m hyperaware of her own gaze as it settles upon my lips, as her pulse begins to quicken very slightly in pace. Alcohol always makes the blood race and for such a lightweight, even a relatively small amount is enough to send her blood rushing. She handles herself with a level of grace; she isn’t slurring or stumbling over her words, isn’t blurting out her most guarded thoughts. In fact, any casual onlooker might not even realize that she’s intoxicated at all aside from the slight haze in her eyes and the redness of her cheeks.

 

“Really? Like where?” she asks, leaning in closer.

 

“Alaska. For a period,” I answer.

 

Beneath the blankets I feel the heat of her hand reach over and cover my own, her thumb absently brushing over my knuckles. My entire body freezes as my brain tries to process what’s happening. Yes, we’ve touched before, but almost always by accident or out of some sort of necessity, like the night we first met when I’d caught her as she crashed into me. 

 

This is very different.

 

“Doctor stuff?” she carries on, her thumb still passively twitching against my skin.

 

It takes me a moment to compose myself.

 

“No,” I reply. “ Alaska was a more… _personal_ trip for me.”

 

In fact, Alaska had marked the end of my foray into medicine. It had been my refuge upon initially breaking free from my old chains. In the winter, the nights are impossibly long and devoid of most people, which made it ideal. I knew there was a very slim chance of me being discovered so far north, of me being followed by the ghost I was so determined to shed. I had holed up in the land of endless winter and purged myself of the poison in my life until I was well enough to return to the living world.

 

Once again, her heat retrieves me from the tundra of my thoughts, though this time it’s shifted from my hand to my bicep which she’s wrapped herself around, linking us together. My eyes slide shut and I feel her head come to rest on my shoulder as she leans against me in a display of tenderness that’s so foreign to me.

 

“I’m really glad I met you, you know?” she whispers.

 

I hum in agreement. It’ll have to do, for I’m unable to form any sort of coherent word in response, not when I can feel the heat from her body radiating outward and engulfing me through the cold and the many layers of clothing that separate us— _so many layers_. She sighs deeply and she’s so close that I can feel her breath hot against my cheek. I turn my head slightly, turn into her, and when I open my eyes again, her face can’t be more than an inch or so from my own.

 

The throbbing begins somewhere in the center but it quickly spreads until my canines are screaming, aching, _begging_. The scent of her blood is all too prominent, but there’s something else mixed in with it, as well— a scent that completely ensnares my senses, that has my tongue slipping out to wet my lips as my eyes are unable to focus on anything other than hers. I hear a slamming, a great explosion, and I know it must be coming from her, that that great, glorious muscle buried so deeply inside of her is pumping life through every inch of her body— life that dangles dangerously within my reach.

 

Beneath her hazy, hooded eyes, beneath the gentleness of her touch and the openness of her smile, beneath that soft, flawless shield of flesh lay an untapped well, hot and gushing and beckoning me closer. Unable to resist its call, I press forward, press our foreheads together with just enough force to make her gasp quietly, though it may as well be a thunderclap. I feel her squirm and it isn’t hard to imagine why— the musk is _strong_ , growing heavier with each passing second. 

 

I angle my head so that my lips hover over her own, so close I can taste the life she breathes. I’m not sure if her eyes are open or closed, for mine are clamped shut and nearly rolling back into my head as I inhale deeply and allow her scent to completely intoxicate me, to fill me with warmth. 

 

As I feel the heat begin to flood my body, I recognize the unmistakable call of nature, of my fangs beginning to unsheathe themselves. A groan tears through my chest as I force myself to pull away from her before it’s too late. In a panic, I spring to my feet and place some much needed distance between us. It all happens so fast, she opens her eyes again and stares at me, stunned.

 

“Delphine?”

 

I turn away from her and hide my face, the very tips of my fangs protruding. My pupils dilate until my eyes are a swimming black. My fingers twitch, bones crack and shift. The need to feed is overwhelming, enough to shift my body into its more primal state. I know if I linger, it won’t even take a full minute before I succumb to the hunger and bury myself in the heat of her blood.

 

“Delphine, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

 

I shake my head and I think I manage an apology before I go dashing off again, leaving her behind once more.

 


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** I have a long update for you guys! We get a little more backstory on Delphine, which will continue to slowly unravel through the course of the fic. Hope you guys enjoy ;)

“I was surprised to get your call.”

 

I pull my gaze from the spitting embers and vibrant flames which dance within the grand fireplace and redirect my attention to the speaker as she slowly saunters towards me, her heels clicking on the marble beneath her and ringing in my ears. The ringing quiets as she passes, gliding across the Persian rug and taking a seat in the leather armchair across from its twin which I currently occupy.

 

“It’s been far too long, Delphine,” she adds with a smile, politely folding her legs as she holds a glass of wine loosely in one hand. “Some of us even thought you were dead.”

 

“I’ve been keeping a low profile,” I mutter, barely able to meet her eyes.

 

The last time I saw Marion Bowles I was saying my final goodbye, sure in the knowledge that I’d never see her again. My problem didn’t lay with the woman herself, but the terrible company she kept— company I could no longer stomach. She’d been kind enough to wish me luck and provide me with the head start I needed to make myself disappear.

 

“Yes. That’s understandable,” she nods. 

 

Her eyes darken and drop to her lap, her brow furrows. She’s clearly lost in an intense thought, one that mirrors my own, and the entire room falls silent save for the crackling embers. Nothing needs to be said. We’ve always had the benefit of a perfect understanding between us. 

 

It’s that understanding that’s led me all the way back here.

 

“What brings you all the way back to Germany? I’m not foolish enough to believe that you’d resurface just to have a drink with me.”

 

I smile.

 

Charming but forward, as always.

 

“I’ve been having… _issues.”_

 

Perhaps “issues” isn’t the right word. But how else am I to explain my situation with Cosima? It’s complicated— far more complicated than I care to go into detail about, and while I may trust Marion with my own life, I’m not sure I can trust her with Cosima’s. Cosima is a human and while Marion is definitely one of the more civil of our kind, she certainly has no great love for humans. My grip on my glass tightens as I stare into its contents, a frown upon my lips.

 

“Issues?” she repeats, her curiosity piqued. “What kind of issues?”

 

As I continue to stare into the glass, into my reflection, I already feel my control begin to waver. How could something like _this_ happen to _me?_ I’ve always been in control of myself, of my emotions. How could I let such a tiny human tear that all away from me? I hardly blame Cosima. _No._ This is _my_ doing. This is _my_ folly. Somewhere along the way, I became sloppy. 

 

The wine glass easily shatters in my hand. I don’t even notice it right away, not until I stare down at my balled fist which is splintered with glass, white wine dripping down. As soon as I register my lapse, I close my eyes and drop my head, hiding from her ever-perceptive gaze.

 

“I see,” is all she says.

 

I mumble a hushed apology, but she doesn’t seem to care about my accident at all. She sets her own glass upon the side table and sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

 

“You’re one of the most disciplined of us all. I always admired that about you,” she remarks. “After so many years, I can’t imagine you’d have difficulty controlling yourself, unless—”

 

She stops mid-thought, as if struck by a stunning realization. I lift my head and shoot her a panicked look. _Does she know? How?_ Marion’s always been astute, but has she really figured it out in less than ten minutes spent in my presence? Is it _that_ obvious?

 

“Of course,” she says with a chuckle, shaking her head.

 

My entire body tenses.

 

“A human. How strange.”

 

I try my best to conceal my nerves, wearing my finest mask of stoicism as I finish picking shards of glass from my already healing hand. I’m not sure what sort of reaction I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the look of utter delight on her face, of pure amusement in her eyes.

 

“Plenty of us take human lovers,” I defend myself.

 

“Yes, but I never imagined that _you_ would,” she counters.

 

She laughs again and I fold my arms over my chest, slumping in my seat. I’m aware I probably look like a pouting child, but how exactly is one to respond to being laughed at like some sort of joke? Is that what I’ve been rendered to? A punchline? She finally reigns herself in, shaking her laughter off to assume a more serious tone.

 

“Tell me about your human.”

 

I meet her inquisitive stare with a defiant one of my own. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to share Cosima like this. Talking about her like some sort of object seems so wrong. You see, that’s how most of us view humans— as objects, as prizes to be claimed or meals to be eaten. But Cosima is neither a prize nor a meal. Cosima is just… _Cosima._ Her name itself bares her own definition and Marion could never understand this.

 

“Silence, hm?” she chimes. “Well, all right. I suppose that’s your prerogative.”

 

She stands, lifting her empty glass and taking it with her as she crosses to the other side of the room, over to the bar. 

 

“Although I don’t know how you expect me to help you if you refuse to speak.”

 

She pours herself another glass of sauvignon blanc and I sigh deeply. She’s right. I didn’t come all this way to drink wine and glare. I came here because I had no one else to turn to, because I believe she may be the only person who can help me with my current predicament.

 

“She’s not my lover,” I concede. “We’re not involved. Not… like _that_.”

 

She passes by me once more on her way back to her armchair and this time she hands me a glass of scotch, amber liquid sloshing along the sides as I silently accept it. I’ve never been one for hard liquor, but given the circumstances, I’m able to ignore the strong smell and accept the burn.

 

“You haven’t had her yet?” she asks as she sits again, surprised by my answer “My, this _is_ interesting.”

 

“Don’t mock me,” I spit, my face contorted from a combination of the alcohol and her patronizing tone.

 

She waves her hand dismissively.

 

“Let me see if I can piece this together,” she begins. “You find yourself a human, one that seems to claw at the deepest parts of you, and that terrifies you. You’re afraid you’ll end up killing her by accident and that’s why you’ve come here.”

 

I don’t have the stomach to tell her that she’s right, but my silence provides its own answer.

 

“You… you were the one who taught me to curb my impulses,” I say.

 

“Yes. I remember,” she nods.

 

So many, many years ago. 

 

I was still relatively young, still completely engrossed in the thrill of the hunt, still dominated by my unstoppable bloodlust. She had been the first one to pull me aside, to warn me that my behaviour would have repercussions. I didn’t believe her at first, or perhaps I didn’t care if she was right. It wasn’t until my unquenchable thirst had nearly exposed our kind and gotten me killed that I returned to her for help. I had begged her to teach me her ways, to teach me control. It was a gruelling process, but by the end of it, I emerged on the other side as more than just a mindless tool to the hunger.

 

“I need you to help me again, Marion.”

 

She sighs.

 

“I don’t know what you’d like me to tell you, Delphine. I already taught you everything I know. I don’t see what good revisiting old lessons would do.”

 

“No lessons,” I clarify. “DYAD.”

 

I catch her completely off guard. I can tell by the way her spine stiffens, by the way her eyes widen at the very utterance of the word. 

 

“DYAD?” she parrots, stunned and confused. “What? You want to come back?”

 

“No.”

 

The word leaves my mouth faster than I can comprehend it. My eyes narrow, my gaze becoming steely as it burns into her with a blazing intensity. She cocks her head in response.

 

“Then what?”

 

I take one last swig of my drink before setting it aside with a heavy clunk.

 

“When I left, there were a number of projects still in development. I remember one in particular— a drug,” I tell her. “They were interested in creating a drug that could subdue the appetite, make it less ravenous.”

 

The idea behind it had been to help fletchings transition. The hunger is particularly voracious in the beginning. In some cases, the newly born are unable to do anything _but_ feed for months, sometimes even years. They’re like rabid dogs— a slave to the hunger, impervious to words or reason. They stalk through the night like mindless beasts, feeding and killing. It goes without saying that such individuals pose a great risk to our kind; the threat of exposure is constant and critical so long as they continue unmonitored.

 

“Oh, darling,” Marion sighs, shaking her head. “You actually thought you’d come here and find yourself a magic pill that would solve all of your problems.”

 

I grip the arms of he chair rather tightly, my jaw clenched.

 

“Let me tell you something, old friend— it’s not the hunger that’s the problem,” she confesses. “You could gorge yourself for days and even still, a single touch would be enough to ignite you again.”

 

I shake, my entire being rattled. It’s as if I’ve been shot with a silver bullet, her words sharp and painfully sobering.

 

“A chemical castration isn’t the answer, Delphine. It isn’t going to change anything because it’s not her blood you really want, is it?”

 

_She’s right._

 

It isn’t her blood, rather the organ which pumps it through her being with force that’s pure and powerful. How does one satiate _that_ kind of hunger? I’ve never experienced it before. I’m no different than a wailing infant, desperate for relief from a feeling I can’t yet put a name to.

 

“Yes, these humans can be quite tricky. That’s why it’s better not to get involved,” she laughs. “But since you already are, I suppose my advice is of little use to you now.”

 

I can almost hear a growl emanating from my throat.

 

“Come now. Don’t be angry,” she chides.

 

“You’re telling me I wasted my time in coming here. You’re telling me there’s nothing I can do,” I snap.

 

An all-knowing grin spreads across her visage.

 

“Come now. I didn’t say that, did I?”

 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

 

When I return, the city looks exactly as I left it. The only difference is the fresh blanket of snow and the tiny, unassuming flurries that descend from the sky and cover the world in pale wonder. The holidays have come and gone in a slow, syrupy haze and never have I experienced a more excruciating two months in my extended life, never have I grown so envious of humans and their skewed, very limited concept of time. Upon abandoning Cosima for the second time in less than a week, the only thought in my head had been to put as much distance between us as possible.

 

So I did.

 

Without a word, I slipped away into the night. There had been no destination in mind, no solid plan of action. All I knew was that it had been nearly two centuries since I came so close to losing control like that, to losing myself to the creature. I thought those days were so far behind me, and yet all it took was a touch from Cosima.

 

That had been enough.

 

Enough to stir at the insatiable hunger deep within me. I knew that there was no way I could be around her again, at least not as I was. I knew I needed to find a way to reign in my impulses, that it was the only way I’d ever be able to be a part of her life. With that in mind, I realized that there was only one person I could really turn to— the one who had helped me the first time, who taught me all about the complexities of my nature. 

 

And so I reluctantly returned to Frankfurt to meet with Marion Bowles, to delve back into my past.

 

And so I’ve spent the last two months in a self-imposed exile.

 

I’m sure my respite has been noted, but it had been a necessary one. The time away from the city, from Cosima, has allowed me to gain a sense of perspective and clear my mind.I feel strangely refreshed, like the beast in me has found some semblance of peace in the knowledge that Marion has shared. I feel strong enough to see Cosima again and begin making up for my past mistakes, though I don’t entirely know what to expect. Perhaps nothing at all, but regardless, the need to see her again screams inside my head, so I return to my old stalking ground outside of the library and wait.

 

The minutes tick away into hours but even still, I remain solid and impervious like some sort of statue, immune to the February cold or exhaustion. I’m left with plenty of time to formulate some sort of plan, to rehearse what it is I plan on telling her. I play out numerous hypothetical conversations in my mind and all of their different outcomes.

 

Outcome number one— she recoils from me in horror, banishes me from her life for good. I think this is the most likely scenario but the fool in me wants to believe it isn’t so. But then, do I honestly expect her to just accept the truth with a grin and an understanding nod? That might be an even greater cause for concern.

 

“Cosima,” I sigh to myself, closing my eyes and imagining her before me. “There’s something I need to tell you— something you should know about me…”

 

Even in my imaginary conversations with her, I can’t bring myself to share the truth. I sigh deeply, hoping that I’ll somehow find my way as I go, that the words will flow naturally when I see her again.

 

In fact, just the opposite happens.

 

The second I see her finally step out of the library, words leave me completely and the corners of my lips upturn into a smile. She’s bundled up in a cloak of familiar red, complete with a scarf and a hat which covers her braids. She readjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder and pauses, presumably to wait for something. I cock my head, wondering what it is she’s waiting for… until an even smaller girl comes trailing out behind her. They exchange a few friendly words and even without tuning into their conversation I can tell from the look in the blonde’s eyes that she’s enamoured with Cosima. 

 

I can tell that the feeling is mutual.

 

She slips her hand into Cosima’s and the two are off, heading in the direction of Cosima’s apartment. Something hard catches in my throat and I find myself feeling nauseous, like I’m back in that restaurant. My hands ball into tight fists, nails digging into my skin deep enough to draw blood, desperate to find a heat of my own for my lonely hands. Instead of making my presence known like I had originally intended, I decide to follow the couple but remain out of sight. As I watch them the entire way, I feel more and more of myself slip away. They smile and laugh and share light conversation, moving together with ease— an ease that I’m slowly coming to accept we can never have together. How, when just a single touch is enough to nearly send me over the edge? How could I ever hold her hand and walk casually down the street like _that_? My eyes grow darker with every second that I watch them together, my fear and anger simmering beneath the surface. When they finally reach Cosima’s apartment building and they stop out front instead of disappearing inside together. I remain hidden as I tune into their conversation, a slight sliver of hope somewhere inside of me.

 

“You sure you don’t want me to come upstairs?” the blonde asks, her eyes sparkling.

 

Cosima smiles, a blush claiming her face as she averts her eyes to her feet. The other girl tugs loosely on her arm, attempting to encourage her and Cosima merely laughs at the gesture.

 

“I do. I mean— I _would_ ,” she begins. “I’m just so far behind on my readings already…”

 

The blonde steps in even closer, wrapping her arms around Cosima’s neck in a most intimate manner. She brings her lips to Cosima’s ear.

 

“I could help you,” she says suggestively, batting her lashes.

 

Cosima sighs, taking a moment to bask in the contact before stepping away from her new friend.

 

“Somehow I don’t think you’d be a very big help,” she counters.

 

Even though her refusal is gentle and veiled, it’s a refusal nonetheless and my tiny hope begins to grow. It’s very subtle, but I can see the slight hesitation in Cosima and I wonder just how far this relationship has gone. At less than two months, could it really extend so deep? Is that where Cosima’s uncertainty stems from? Crossing the threshold into deeper territory? Inviting this girl inside with her? They seem to fit together so well, I wonder why she’s holding back.

 

“Okay. I’ll see you later, then,” the blonde nods.

 

She leans forward, pressing a relatively chaste kiss to Cosima’s lips.

 

“Yeah. Definitely,” Cosima agrees, smiling as she watches the other girl begin to walk away. “Later.”

 

I take advantage of her moment of brief distraction, using my speed to blur by her. I stop in front of the entrance to the building, leaning against the door and pretending to appear rather nonchalant, as if I had been standing there the entire time. When she finally pulls her eyes away from the smaller blonde who’s drifted out of sight, she turns to head inside and freezes the moment she sees me, her eyes wide with shock as she assesses.

 

“Delphine?”

 

I push myself off the door and step a little closer, offering her a meek smile before I bow my head lightly in a display of submission.

 

_“Bonjour,_ Cosima.”

 

She blinks a few times, her mind trying to process the situation that’s unfolding. She clearly hadn’t expected to see me and I notice her posture growing increasingly stiff. It’s a defensive gesture, one that’s further emphasized when she folds her arms across her chest to close herself off from me completely, summoning a frown to my face.

 

“Uh… hey.”

 

She flaunts a frown of her own and while I expected such an outcome was possible, I had hoped that my return would be more well-received. 

 

“Is everything all right?” I ask, my concern genuine.

 

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

 

I grow silent, giving her the opportunity to elaborate.

 

“You sorta just, like, disappeared,” she says, shaking her head. “I wasn’t sure where you went, or if I’d even hear from you again. You didn’t respond to any of my messages.”

 

“I was back in France. I had business to tend to,” I lie.

 

It seems like the most reasonable excuse in my arsenal and she nods very slowly, cautiously accepting it. She’s civil, but I can tell there’s a quiet anger simmering just beneath the surface that she’s desperately trying to hide, to perhaps convince herself that it isn’t there at all or that she has some sort of handle on it. I take one more step towards her and she immediately back-pedals, consciously maintaining the distance between us. 

 

_This isn’t like her at all._  

 

The last time we were together, _I_ was the one pulling away. Cosima is a creature of momentum, of forward movement in all things— head-first and mouth open as she dives into whatever unknown she’s faced with. She hadn’t seemed closed off when I was watching her earlier with the tiny blonde and I realize that this is my doing, that this is a barrier she’s erected in my absence, erected specifically for me.

 

“You’re upset,” I quietly remark.

 

“I’m fine,” she counters with a shrug. “Just glad you’re not dead or whatever.”

 

She shifts in place, clearly uncomfortable. Like myself, she’s unsure of how to respond to my presence, how to interpret our reunion. She stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to state my purpose— after all, I’d been the one to come to her, waiting patiently for her at her doorstep.

 

“Has anything happened while I’ve been gone?”

 

I bait her, watching carefully for any sort of nonverbal cue, waiting to see if she’ll bite. I find myself having to know everything about this new blonde who seems to have become a fixture in her life in my absence. Their relationship has clearly expanded beyond the platonic range, but just how far? Two months seems like a rather short time for a romantic relationship to truly blossom. How invested is Cosima in this girl?

 

“Nope. Not really. Same old story,” she throws back, shrugging once again for emphasis.

 

I hum in acknowledgement, deciding against calling her out on her lie.

 

“Perhaps you could tell me about you holidays?” I try, offering her the strongest smile I can muster.

She regards me carefully with narrowed eyes, wondering whether or not to engage me, to trust me as she did before. If I really wanted to I could simply compel her to answer me, to open herself up to me once more. I could erase all memory of my absence from her mind and make things like they were. It would be such a simple solution, and yet I can’t bring myself to work her like I’ve done to so many others. I had sworn that I would never use such a tactic on her, no matter how desperate. I will not tamper with her memories, with her will, for the Cosima that would remain would not be the one I’vegrown so fond of.

 

“Maybe some other time,” she mutters. “I-I’m really tired. I sorta just wanna crash.”

 

“Oh,” I respond, my disappointment very evident despite my best efforts to conceal it. “Okay.”

 

She finally approaches, but only to step around me so she can unlock the door and slip inside, all without meeting my gaze or engaging my presence fully. I hear her throw an unenthused “see you” in my direction as she leaves me standing out in the cold.

 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

 

Three days pass without a single word from Cosima, not a text or a call, not any sort of acknowledgement whatsoever. I begin to fear that I’ve lost her completely and I wonder if it would be best to simply let her go, but then the thought of never seeing her again sends such a tremendous wave of fear through me that I know that’s simply not possible. I had wanted to allow her her space, to let her come to me, but I feel her slipping farther and father out of my reach with each second I spend standing idle.

 

Once again, I find myself at her doorstep. I could tell from the lack of light and activity in her apartment that she wasn’t home, so I’d checked all of her familiar spots and came up empty. Wherever she is, it’s somewhere new and unbeknownst to me and instead of chasing her all over the city, I thought it best to wait for her to return. Sure enough, quite deep into the night, she returns with that girl again— Shay, as I’ve come to learn. I slip behind one of the support columns to both hide myself and calm my growing anger. Is this vapid blonde really the reason why Cosima has been avoiding me? Has she traded my company for hers? I listen to them carry on for a few minutes, for Shay to suggest she stay the night and for Cosima to gently rebuff her once again, citing an early class as the culprit. The girl doesn’t put up much of a fight, simply swallows her disappointment and leaves with another parting kiss. 

 

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I hear Cosima mumble under her breath when she thinks she’s alone.

 

She sighs deeply, collecting herself before heading over towards me. She digs through her purse in search of her keys and I briskly slip out from behind the column, inserting myself into her periphery. The second she notices she’s not alone, she jumps back in alarm, her heart slamming in her chest.

 

“Jesus! Shit!” she exclaims, anger radiating off of her. “What the hell, Delphine? What are you doing here?”

 

“Is she your girlfriend?”

 

I know such a question is not the greatest conversation starter, but I can’t help myself. The thought has been tormenting me ever since I’ve returned— I need to know who this girl is to Cosima, I need to hear Cosima say it herself.

 

“Uh… that’s not really any of your business,” she snaps back. 

 

“You used to tell me everything,” I say, my voice wavering. “I leave for two months and now it’s like I’m a complete stranger.”

 

She scoffs.

 

“Whose fault is that?”

 

There’s fire in her eyes, a sharp, piercing gaze directed at me through narrowed slits. She lashes out like a child who’s been left with the sitter while her parents have gone away— abandoned and betrayed. I realize now just how deep this fear of hers really runs and I’m overcome with shame.

 

“You’re upset because I left. I left _you,_ ” I conclude, reaching out towards her.

 

She shrugs away from my touch.

 

“Go home, Delphine.”

 

She turns away from me to fumble with her keys, hands shaky as she attempts to open the door.

 

“You don’t understand— I _had_ to go, Cosima. I didn’t _want_ to,” I plead, pressing harder. “I didn’t want to be away from you for so long.”

 

She slams her fist against the glass of the door, the sound ringing out and alarming me.

 

“Are you really so self-involved that you think everything’s about you?” she spits.

 

I stand and stare, stunned.

 

“If this isn’t about us, then… what is it about?”

 

I’m genuinely confused and she’s in my face so suddenly that I’m uncertain of how to react to her anger.

 

“God! There _is_ no us, Delphine!” she barks, her voice hard but eyes soft somewhere deep beneath the shimmering surface. _“You_ made sure of that!”

 

She’s right.

 

This is my fault.

 

Perhaps we might have had a chance before I’d left her twice, in the same week no less. But then if I hadn’t left her, she’d mostly likely be dead by my hand. No chance is worth that painful certainty. I think she expects me to recoil, to turn myself around and scamper away like a dog with its tail between its legs. That would probably be the most appropriate response, but I know if I do that, she’ll never want to see me again.

 

The time for passivity has passed.

 

“I don’t like it,” I say sternly, my face becoming hard.

 

“Don’t like what?” 

 

“Her. The two of you— together,” I clarify. “I don’t like it.”

 

I think maybe she’ll lash out again, her anger only fuelled by my possessiveness. She does step in closer, but not to strike hot and fast. She meets my eyes with softness, with curiosity, with _yearning._ It’s easy to see that she needs something from me in that moment, that she’s waiting for something, but I can’t seem to decipher it on my own.

 

“Why?”

 

I shake, my entire world upturned.

 

She’s waiting for me to _say it_. To tell her the truth. I open my mouth to tell her, only to find that my mouth is completely dry. _Where have my words gone? Why is this so difficult?_ I know what I _want_ to say, but for whatever reason, my lips will not allow me to speak the words.

 

“I— I don’t know,” I mutter, my head dropping in defeat.

 

Her lip quivers and then she turns away, focusing her attention back to unlocking the door as quickly as possible. Her entire body trembles as she slides the key into the lock and pushes the door open, nearly bursting through it in a desperate bid to get away from me. I watch as the door slowly begins to close, the very last barrier between us, cementing our distance.

 

_No._

 

I stick my hand in its way, stopping it before it can close completely. Pulling it open fully, I step through the threshold and walk through the lobby. She slips into the elevator and mashes the “door close” button furiously, but as the elevator doors begin to chime shut, I manage to catch them with my hand, as well, and force them open once again. Her eyes widen as I step into the small space and she backs herself into the corner, unable to tear her eyes from me.

 

“You… you can’t just do this,” she whispers.

 

“Do what?” I goad.

 

She shakes her head, tears biting at the corners of her eyes.

 

“Disappear like that, and then come back into my life and start making demands.”

 

The elevator doors close, sealing us in the tiny compartment. 

 

“I’m not,” I tell her.

 

I could never make demands of her. Doesn’t she understand that? From the very beginning, _I’ve_ been the one at the mercy of her will. Does she really not see it? See what her presence does to me?

 

“I don’t get you,” she says, her voice incredibly small as a tear slips out. “One second I think that— maybe— but then… then you just pull away. I wait around, wait for you to… but then you’re _gone.”_

 

I step even closer until our bodies are nearly flush together. I can feel the heat, feel her chest heaving and hear her heart pumping overdrive. She drops her head to try to escape me, but I simply won’t allow this distance anymore. 

 

_I’m so tired of it._

 

I reach forward, catching her chin and tilting it upward so that she has no choice but to meet my almost predatory gaze. I find a vagrant tear with my thumb, tracing its path with the digit until it fades away into my skin. 

 

I see the exhaustion in her eyes, too.

 

_“_ I don’t wanna play this game anymore,” she sniffles, shaking her head. “It isn’t worth it.”

 

Her eyes drift shut and I bring my curious thumb to her lips, tracing the fullness of the lower one with the pad of my thumb. She whimpers, her body trembling, and I feel the heat from her mouth hot and damp against my finger. 

 

“This isn’t a game, Cosima,” I say thickly, my voice too low for even me to recognize.

 

Her eyes flutter open again and they’re diluted from the haze. Even my capable eyes are barely able to see through the thickness, to find the creature on the other side of this great pyre. Her desire is dripping, I can see it in her blown pupils, smell it in her blood which rushes and rises to the surface, my call like a magnet. Her heavy breathing, her bursting heart drown out the sound of the chiming floors as we rise higher and higher, closer to our destination. My tongue emerges to wet my lips, to trace the point of my canines which throb in the most delightful way possible. 

 

“Then what is it?” 

 

It isn’t so much a question as it is a dare.

 

I press her firmly against the panelled wall of the elevator, my lips seeking hers with an urgency greater than anything I’ve ever known. She whimpers again, much louder this time, and I swallow her cries eagerly, desperate for even the smallest breath of life she has to offer. 

 

And it’s good.

 

_It’s so, so good._

 

Her hands move to bury themselves in my hair and she opens her mouth wider to me, inviting me inside to plunder. A low growl escapes me, one she readily accepts, one she unknowingly encourages when her tongue briefly swipes against my overly sensitive canines, teasing the beast. I can feel my shift begin to tickle and I tear my lips away for a moment out of sheer necessity, only she clings to my lower one with her own teeth, gently nibbling and sucking and drawing me back in with a deep, strangled groan.

 

I can’t deny her now.

 

 


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Just a heads up before you jump on in-- this chapter is definitely NSFW, though I doubt this really bothers any of you :P The response so far has been pretty damn amazing so thank you all so much for taking this ride with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. I love to hear what you guys love/don’t love, it helps me craft a better story overall. Enjoy!

We come to a halt, the elevator doors chiming open, their sound indicating that we’ve reached Cosima’s floor. Even with this knowledge somewhere in the back of my head, I make no effort to pull myself from her, to abandon this heat. I find her hands which are tangled in my hair and capture her wrists, pinning them securely to the wall. My hips involuntarily buck forward, pressing even harder against her, and she expels a chesty moan.

 

“Oh. _Wow.”_

 

The voice comes from somewhere behind us and she gasps, pulling her hands free from my grip. She brings them to my chest, lightly pushing against me and creating some space in an attempt to ward off my advances, more aware of the public nature of our surroundings than myself.

 

“S-Sorry!” she exclaims, voice cracking.

 

I growl, turning to face the intruder with murder in my eyes. My shift hovers just beneath the surface and the urge to heed its call only grows stronger from being torn away from Cosima and denied what it is I lust for. There’s a tall, scruffy-looking boy standing in the doorway, gawking— clearly caught off guard by the sight of the two of us. She grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the elevator in a hurry, pushing past the young man and nearly dragging me down the hallway without saying another word. When we reach her unit, I watch her through hooded lids as she unlocks the door and pushes it open so the two of us can spill inside, away from the unwanted gaze of the world. 

 

As soon as the door closes shut behind us, I’m on her again. 

 

She tosses her bag to the side and squirms beneath my grip, anchoring herself to me as she slips out of her boots and tries to remove her coat. I assist her, my hands blindly tugging at the tie to open the garment before pushing it down her shoulders until it sinks to the floor. She smiles into our kiss, smiles when my hands deftly remove her scarf and she tugs her own hat off, as well. She’s wearing a large, patterned sweater that’s soft against my touch and I’m tempted to take that from her, as well, but I must remind myself to tread carefully— this is all new territory, I don’t want to risk ruining the moment by losing control of myself, though that seems almost inevitable, especially when her hands find the buttons of my own coat and slowly begin freeing them one-by-one.

 

Reality strikes me all at once.

 

This is happening. I’m with Cosima, in her apartment. We’re undressing each other. At this rate, we’ll both be naked in minutes. The very thought elicits yet another strangled moan from my lips and she chuckles lightly, breaking our kiss to help me shed my coat. When her lips find me again, they’re pressed to the hollow of my throat, peppering me with sweet affection. When she languorously drags them over to my supposed pulse point, something flashes and crackles inside of me.

 

You see, for my kind, a bite is the ultimate symbol of dominance— of ownership. I know she’s unaware of such meaning, but as I feel her teeth and tongue tease against me, unknowingly claiming me as her own, I know there’s no hope for me. 

 

My body lurches, my eyes bleed black. 

 

Before it swallows me completely, I rip myself away from her and turn my back to conceal my quickly changing features.

 

“Delphine? What is it?”

 

I stagger over towards the door, my fists tightly clenched, my jaw locked. My fangs slowly unsheathe themselves and I find myself growling once again, though this one is much more sinister in nature. My eyes zone in on the doorknob, on my means of escape, and as I reach forward to pull the door open and bolt, I feel her arms wrap around my waist from behind and my hand freezes mid-reach.

 

“Please don’t go. Don’t leave me again,” she whispers, her voice wavering.

 

And how can I?

 

How can I leave, when she asks me like _that?_ How can I leave, when she’s claimed me as her own? I clench my eyes shut tightly, my entire body tensing. In this state, my already acute senses are magnified ten fold; I can hear her heart slamming as if it were nestled in my ear, feel it against my skin as her chest presses against my spine. I can smell the heady scent of her arousal, so strong I can nearly taste it on my lips.

 

“Just tell me,” she pleads, nuzzling my shoulder blade. “Tell me what it is.”

 

Perhaps this is my chance. I had told myself that I would tell her everything upon returning, though I’d gotten lost in my jealously and nearly forgotten. _But this isn’t how I wanted to do this._ I don’t know how I imagined this would turn out, but I had hoped we wouldn’t be caught in a compromising situation. I take another moment to catch myself, to compose myself, before I turn in her arms to face her.

 

“Del—”

 

She freezes the moment she gazes upon my face, her eyes widening and lips parting slightly, a hushed squeak of surprise escaping. She quickly releases me, taking a few steps back, her eyes never leaving my own. 

 

“W-What…?”

 

My fangs protrude out past my lips, the white in my eyes completely gone and replaced with a solid, glossy black. Dark, hollow rings encircle my eyes and only accentuate my already pale features.

 

“I wanted to tell you,” I say quietly, bowing my head in shame. “I didn’t know how.”

 

I dare to lift my gaze from the floor for a moment, to drink in her expression. She’s brought her hand to cover her gaping mouth, her eyes still wide with the shock of my revelation. Her body trembles in what I can only assume is fear.

 

“Y-You’re… you’re… you’re a…”

 

She’s unable to complete her thought, to accept this impossible truth even as it stares her in the face. I can hardly blame her, either. With the mood dampened and adrenaline gone, my shift slowly begins to fade away, my features reversed back to their usual, dormant state. Her body seems to relax somewhat at the sight.

 

“I’ll leave.”

 

I turn and reach for the door again, knowing that this is goodbye. There’s no way I can come back from this, no way she’d want anything to do with me. I can already feel myself crushed beneath it and the only thought in my mind is retreating into she shadows from whence I came, where no one can see me falter.

 

“Wait.”

 

I feel a warm hand slip around my wrist, stopping me. Stunned, I turn to face her again, to try to make sense of her intentions.

 

“You… you still want me to stay?”

 

She swallows the large ball lodged in her throat, taking a deep, centering breath. 

 

“You’re not gonna hurt me.”

 

She says it more for herself rather than for my confirmation. I see the gears spinning in her head, see her trying to rationalize this mess of a situation. She seems caught between two forces, between what her eyes are showing her and some other feeling that disputes them, between “monster” and “Delphine” — wondering if there’s a difference between the two, or if there’s some sort of middle ground upon which she can stand.

 

“If you were gonna hurt me, you would have done it already… right?” she clarifies.

 

 

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell her, looking down at her with a serious expression. “It’s just… when you're so close to me, it’s hard to… _control myself._ ”

 

She nods slowly, all of the pieces slowly falling into place.

 

“That’s why you keep running out on me.”

 

I nod.

 

“That day on the the roof,” I begin, my thoughts carrying me back to that very moment. “I could feel myself losing control. It happens when I’m—”

 

I stop myself, catching the word before I allow it to slip out. This is hardly the time for such talk. Her attention perks up at my pause, she senses my hesitation and her curiosity gets the better of her as she slowly releases my wrist but doesn’t bother to step away.

 

“What?” she asks, cocking her head. “When you’re… _what?”_

 

Her heart speeds up. My eyes drift over the expanse of her neck, noticing the throb of her pulse. I then turn them the redness in her cheeks, her swollen lips— all before finding hers again in a penetrating gaze.

 

“When I’m aroused.”

 

My confession sends her for an Arctic plunge, a shiver ripping through her body as her breath catches in her chest.

 

“Oh,” she exhales, her lashes fluttering. _“Whoa._ Okay.”

 

I sigh, pulling away from her so I can walk deeper into her apartment. I stare out the window in quiet contemplation for a moment while she watches me from behind.

 

“That hasn’t happened in such a long time,” I tell her honestly. “I forgot how hard it can be— how difficult it is to reign in.”

 

I wait for some sort of response, perhaps a look of disgust or horror or confusion. All three would be appropriate.

 

“You were… _aroused?”_

 

I sigh again.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I… arouse you?”

 

Quiet, tentative footsteps carry her closer to me and when I turn around to acknowledge her, she’s far closer than I had anticipated— far closer than she should probably dare to step, now knowing what she knows.

 

“Cosima…”

 

My voice is a warning— a warning not to tempt or toy. My brow furrows as I take in her muted smile, that sparkle of wonder in her amber orbs. She isn’t terrified at all. _She’s… amused? Curious? Both?_

 

“Sorry,” she laughs, her fingers finding the hem of my blouse and absently toying with it. “It’s just… you’re, like, a total goddess.”

 

My eyes are transfixed upon her fidgeting fingers, my brain engrossed by the playful gesture. Despite her initial reaction of shock, she remains strangely unguarded, as if she’s unconcerned by my true identity. Perhaps she sees something that I simply do not, for I can’t seem to wrap my mind around it.

 

“Do you seriously believe that?” I ask her.

 

She smiles, tugging lightly on the hem.

 

“I just have a hard time believing that someone like _me_ could… you know,” she mutters, suddenly coy. “Turn _you_ on.”

 

I will never be able to bring myself to understand her self-doubt, how she can look in the mirror and see anything less than perfection. It’s always been so apparent to me and even though she carries herself with a swagger most times, her self-perception is not as sure as her steps.

 

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” I tell her earnestly, raising a hand to cup her face.

 

Her eyes close and her smile spreads. She tilts her head, pressing a kiss to my palm. The act is sweet and simple, but it shakes me in such a way that I feel a familiar buzzing beneath my skin and I can’t help but frown with the knowledge that the beast is winding up again.

 

“Hey,” she says, seizing my attention. “Don’t be nervous, okay? It’s just me.”

 

I meet her reassuring gaze and she takes my hand, our fingers entwining. How can she possibly be so sure about this? Knowing what I am, how can she just stand there so easily, a smile upon her face and a steadiness in her heart?

 

“I trust you.”

 

She leans in closer until our foreheads are pressing together.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why shouldn’t I?” she counters.

 

She wraps her arms around my neck and my eyes drop to her lips once more. If this happens, will I be able to control myself? _What if I can’t?_ For a brief instant, my mind wanders back to my meeting with Marion and the advice that she’d given me.

 

“Just don’t, like, bite me or anything. Promise?”

 

I swallow hard.

 

“Cosima…”

 

Our noses brush together.

 

“Please,” she says, her voice a breathy whine against my lips.

 

I answer her plea with pressure, my lips slowly locking with hers. We start gentle— not like before, not overcome by the need for heat. I allow her to coax me slowly and we tread lightly through the water, her hands unraveling from around my neck to reach for the very top button of my blouse. While she occupies herself with the shirt I walk her backwards and she instinctively follows my lead, allowing me to lead her over to her bedroom. 

 

“You’re so soft,” she remarks, her hands running up my bare arms once I shed my blouse.

 

I merely hum in response, too distracted by the feel of her hands on me, by the urge to strip her bare. I tug her sweater up and off with great efficiency and waste no time in reaching for the clasp of her bra to free her. She trembles slightly, but ultimately complies and allows the garment to slide from her arms to the hardwood floor. With her upper half completely exposed, I briefly pull away from her to gain a more complete view. My greedy eyes consume all that’s offered to them and I feel the heat between my own legs begin to settle in. I don’t mean to leer, I don’t mean for my gaze to appear quite so lecherous, but as my eyes rake over her toned stomach and the perfect swell of her breasts, my tongue slips out to wet my lips and I groan quietly.

 

_“Tres belle.”_

 

I reach forward, my hands molding to the curve of her hips, fingers tingling at the rush of cool against warm. I drag them upward languidly, tracing her petite frame and stopping just beneath her breasts, unable to tear my eyes away from them. Her breathing is laboured now, causing the mounds to gently bounce and sway with each thick, heavy breath. When I do finally bring my hands to cup them she whimpers quietly and a tremor rips through both of our bodies, rolling from hers into mine like a great tidal wave. I feel her nipples harden against my touch and I step closer, pushing our bodies together, gripping her more firmly and running my thumbs over the pebbled flesh.

 

_“J’aurai de toi,”_ I murmur, dropping to my knees like a pilgrim at the alter.

 

She gasps in surprise, her tremors starting up again in full-swing as soon as my lips find the spot just below her navel. She mewls while I shower her with affection and my fingers reach for the button of her jeans, my tongue dipping into her navel to tease. I expel an appreciative groan, the scent of her arousal even stronger than ever as my tongue encircles the tiny crevice and my canines throb once more. She threads her fingers through my tresses and as I look up at her, I see she’s biting down hard on her lower lip to stifle her sounds.

 

That just won’t do.

 

I succeed in freeing the button, in unzipping her fly, but before I can guide her legs out of their denim prison, she’s tugging lightly on my hair and urging me upwards. I comply, rising once again and finding her lips, though I can’t help my hands from wandering lower, can’t stop the noise rumbling somewhere in my chest. She tilts her head to the side, breaking our kiss as my lips skid across her cheek and I pull back to offer her a curious look.

 

“Can we just—”

 

She reaches for my hand which is now stroking her inner thigh, grabbing it by the wrist and leading it back up to cup her face. 

 

“Just a little slower?” she asks softly, offering me a timid smile. “I want this, but I…”

 

When I realize what it is she’s asking me, I nod in understanding. I often forget how vulnerable these humans can be with their bodies, with their hearts. Cosima’s remains untouched and she’s entrusted me to take care of it. I must ignore my ravenous impulses and tend to her softly, though I’m unsure if I even know how. I’ve never regarded another with such care before, this experience as new for me as it is for her.

 

_“Bien sûr,”_ I agree. “Just tell me what you need.”

 

She leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to my cheek, my jaw, smiling against my ear.

 

“I want to feel you against me.”

 

It’s a simple demand, one that’s seemingly innocent, but a quiet moan escapes me nonetheless; for so long I’ve imagined nothing but the hot press of her body against mine, the slick, sweet heat of bare skin— _of life—_ that I’ve been denied for so long. I nod, leading her back a few steps until she reaches the edge of her bed. I guide her lower, watching with dark eyes as she sits upon its edge. Only then do I step back, ignoring her look of confusion as I reach behind me for the clasp of my bra. She squirms in her seat, watching me intently as the article falls to the floor. I then proceed with the rest of my clothes, slowly undressing for her until I’m completely nude.

 

“Geez,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering.

 

They dance about my body, uncertain of which feature to settle on, as if they may catch fire should they linger on one place too long. I fear I may overwhelm both of our senses if I take her all at once so I merely stand in place with a smirk, allowing her to gaze unabashedly— to begin to slowly familiarize herself with the plains of my body before she introduces her touch. 

 

“You’re really beautiful,” she tells me, her eyes following me as I stalk towards her. “Like, drop-dead, super model beautiful.”

 

I urge her backwards onto the bed until she lay flat and I hover over her, gazing down into her eyes. Before I have the chance to do so myself, she reaches down to the waistband of her jeans and slowly peels them from her body as I watch the entire process, the fire within me burning hotter. Only her underwear separates us now and I lower my body until I press against her, both of us moaning at the contact. 

 

And it’s the most glorious feeling, to have her flush against me— our breasts melded together, my thigh slipping between her own to greet her heat, to be seared by it. She cries out and I swallow the sound, I drink her hard and long until we’re forced to part again so she can draw breath. 

 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” I whisper in her ear.

 

She holds me close to her in a vice grip, blunt nails digging into my shoulder blades as she whimpers and coos beneath my touch. I trail kisses along her jawline and down the column of her neck where I’m forced to stop and press my nose to her pulse point. I feel it surge through me, feel it beating as if it were my own heart. It calls to me, daring me to taste it. She sighs my name and it’s enough to send me over again, to call the creature out. My fangs extend and lightly scratch at the surface of her skin, threatening to plunge deeper and drain her dry. I moan loudly as I fight against the urge, as I keep myself hovering and her body tenses.

 

“Delphine?”

 

She reaches for my head, pulling it away from her so she can gaze upon my true face. I can smell the fear mixed in with her arousal and she freezes for a moment, perhaps wondering if she should push me off of her. Instead she brings her thumb to my lips, tracing them gently while my eyes glisten with desire. She finds one of my fangs and runs the pad of her thumb along the length of it curiously, an act which sends my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

 

“They’re sensitive,” she utters, quickly figuring it out for herself.

 

I nod, my eyes clamped shut and body quaking. I grab fistfuls of sheets to occupy my hands and keep myself from holding her down and sinking into her. When she cranes her neck up and kisses me it’s slightly awkward; she carefully maneuvers her lips against my own, mindful of my canines as they scratch against her. Each flick of her tongue, each brush of her lips is like some agonizingly slow, delicious type of torture that I can’t bring myself to endure anymore so I pull away, pushing her down forcefully on the mattress. A squeak of surprise escapes her and before her mind can even process what’s happening, my mouth is moving down her body, down her chest to the peak of her breasts. My lips encircle one, taking as much into my mouth as I can fit and she cries out rather loudly, her spine arching and jutting her chest forward. I suck greedily at her suppleness, then release her breast with a loud pop and a guttural growl before turning my attention to the other. She’s tugging at my hair, cradling my head, her body wordlessly encouraging my attention. I press my thigh harder against her clothed heat until its fire becomes unbearable and I abandon her chest in pursuit of something greater.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

She already knows the answer to this question despite asking it, so I ignore her and allow the tips of my fangs to scrape against her taut stomach, muscles rippling beneath them as my mouth sneaks lower. I reach for the elastic of her panties and tear them in an instant, tossing the shredded cloth somewhere behind me as I position myself between her legs.

 

“More,” I grunt.

 

I lift her legs to settle them upon my shoulders while she watches me with large, gaping eyes that might even rival my own in darkness. I wrap my arms around her thighs, press my nose against the patch of curls and inhale her thick musk. Before I even bring my mouth to her, I nuzzle her wetness, I coat my face in it and bask in the proof of her desire for me.

 

“I want it all.”

 

I want _everything—_ all this creature has to offer, everything that she is— I want it all in my mouth and on my tongue and so deep beneath my skin, perhaps somewhere where my own blood might have once flowed. 

 

_“Fuck!”_

 

When my tongue finally parts her folds, her hips buck forward and she yelps like a struck dog as I overtake her. It’s the greatest invasion I’ve ever known, the sweetest taste to ever hit my tongue and I lap greedily at her wetness, moaning as she flows into my mouth and down my chin. A low rumbling emanates from my chest though I’m hardly aware of it, focused solely on the slickness of her desire, on the glide of my tongue through her. 

 

My hunger is insatiable.

 

No matter how much she gives me, something inside calls out for more. I draw my attention to her swollen clit, alternating between encircling it with my tongue and sucking like some starved, crazed creature.

 

And I am.

 

I had thought that this would be enough, that if I could have her in this way, my lust might somehow diminish. As she writhes beneath the deftness of my mouth, I realize that the case is just the opposite; I only burn hotter for her, only crave more of her.

 

_“Please,”_ she whimpers.

 

I look up from between her legs, my tongue never ceasing as I seek to catch her gaze. She has an arm drawn over her eyes to shield her from me and I smirk internally, the gesture only encouraging me. I suck harder at her clit and her teeth sink into her lower lip, yet another moan escaping her. Her hips move as if they’re independent from her, learning my patterns and rolling in sync. 

 

_“Please, Delphine!”_

 

I can tell she’s close now.

 

Her legs try to clamp around my head but I hold her open to my hunger and watch as her stomach clenches, as she arches even higher off the bed. She keens loudly as I deliver her with a few more steady strokes of my tongue and she rides the waves of her pleasure all the way through with grace and dedication. When I finally pull my mouth from her sex, I can’t bring myself to part completely. I rest my head upon her wet thigh, above her femoral artery and I can feel myself salivating as it slams like thunder in my ear.

 

_It would be so easy…_

 

I bring my mouth to her thigh, my tongue lapping away the remnants of her arousal, my fangs lightly pricking her skin. One, quick bite is all it would take. I wouldn’t take it all, of course— just the smallest taste. 

 

“Delphine?”

 

I tear my attention from her femoral artery and look up at her again, at the sheepish smile on her face. _I promised that I wouldn’t._ No matter how loudly the beast calls, I promised her that I’d keep it at bay, that’d I’d take care of her, and so I must distract myself; like an addict, I must replace my craving for her blood with something else.

 

Her body seems the most reasonable choice.

 

“C’mere.”

 

I work my way back up her limp body, taking my time to pepper light kisses along my path until we’re eye-level again. I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, my hand reaching lower between us to cup her swollen core. She gasps loudly and shudders, trying to squirm out of my grasp.

 

“More,” I insist, my words a harsh growl against her lips.

 

She shakes her head.

 

“I can’t—”

 

I ignore her denial and slide two fingers into her depths, stealing more sacred sounds from her lips. I know she’s still sensitive, that she probably feels as though she might break apart completely beneath my touch, but I’m determined to coax her through it. I’m determined to show her the other side, to lead her over the previously unsurmountable peak of pleasure that she’s known. I’m determined to have her in ways she can’t yet imagine but will be well acquainted with by the night’s end.

 


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Sorry for the wait! Life seems to have gotten in the way of my writing, but I’ll do my best to fight back and keep the updates coming regularly. As always, your support has been overwhelming and is greatly appreciated. I’m always eager to know what you guys think, so here’s the next one. Enjoy! :)

I slowly wander around the small, confined space of Cosima’s apartment with a crooked yet satisfied smile, dragging my fingertips along walls and furniture so deeply imprinted with her scent. After hours of lovemaking, the girl had succumbed to her exhaustion and I watch her sleep soundly from across the room, lingering in front of the window as the last bit of moonlight filters through. My own bedtime is fast approaching, but I’d made sure to draw the blinds and curtains over every window, to shield me from the sun’s rays which would begin to pour through within the next hour or so. 

 

My task complete, I return to the warmth of her bed. I draw back the covers and she stirs slightly, a stirring which only grows as I trail my lips up the length of her spine, unable to resist temptation. She groans quietly in her sleep and when my lips find her ear, her eyes flutter open and she expels a breathy sigh.

 

“Good morning, _ma cherie,”_ I whisper, gently nipping at her lobe.

 

“Mmm. Hey.”

 

She rolls herself over, sprawling and offering me a sleepy grin that I eagerly smother with my own lips. By some miracle I managed to make it through our night together without feeding from my young lover, though I can’t say my attentions have been entirely gentle. She winces very subtly when I slip a thigh between hers and I pull my lips from her own so that my eyes can rake over her body, over the light bruises which cover her chest and neck, her wrists and thighs.

 

“You’re sore,” I frown.

 

She shrugs, running a hand through my curls, lightly scratching at my scalp.

 

“Just a little.”

 

I realize now just how delicate she is, that despite my best efforts, even my restraint is not restrained enough for my liking.

 

“I was… too rough with you?”

 

“No, no, no. I’m fine,” she insists, placing a reassuring kiss to my cheek. “You were— last night was… _wow_. I didn’t even think that kinda stuff was possible.”

 

Her giggles fall on deaf ears, my eyes fixed on the blooms of light purple upon her neck— a product of my incessant sucking. I remember the taste so well, drawing her blood to the very surface of her skin and somehow stopping myself from biting down. She’d cried out beneath me, clutching to me as if her life depended on it while my fingers worked through her wetness. I gaze upon her wrists, upon the faint bruises which mar them. I remember pinning her to the mattress beneath us, her pleading breathlessly as I ground harder against her desire with my own. All of these images come flooding back into my head and I realize just how far I lost myself in her last night— so much so that I’d been unaware of any possible damage. 

 

“I’ll be softer,” I promise, my voice a whisper.

 

I plant a feather-light kiss upon one of the blemishes and her grin only widens, only calls my attention back towards her mouth. She wraps her arms around my neck and draws me down, closer to herself until our bodies are flush together and I can feel her heat fully engulfing me. I wonder now how I’ve survived for so long without such a heat, without this sense of purpose that I feel as we cling to each other.

 

“The sun’ll be coming up soon,” she says, our lips parting so that she can remind me. “I take it that’s sort of a problem for you?”

 

I smile again.

 

“I’ve already drawn the curtains,” I explain, our noses brushing. “But it looks as though I’m stuck here until sundown.”

 

I hear her smirk before I actually see it.

 

“That’s a shame,” she remarks.

 

“Hm.”

 

I slowly work my way down her body, pressing kisses to the underside of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, her collarbone. She threads her fingers through my hair and holds me close to her chest, my lips skimming over her smooth skin.

 

“Just how old are you, anyway?”

 

I lift my head to meet her gaze, her question catching me off guard.

 

“You must be pretty old, right?” she clarifies. “At least, older than you look.”

 

I can hardly blame her for her curiosity even if it is somewhat misplaced. I was fully prepared for these questions to surface in the near future, though I didn’t think they would come while we were still in bed together. Even so, I realize that it is my duty to answer them, to solidify her trust in me. 

 

“I was twenty-six when I was sired,” I answer.

 

“And when was that?”

 

I have to pause for a moment to actually consider her question. There was a time when my human life was fresh in my mind, when it haunted me and bound me to this world, but now it’s nothing more than a distant memory— foggy and blurred around the edges, like it was something that happened to someone else. My memories of my family are vague; I remember having a mother and father, though I no longer recall what their faces looked like, what their voices sounded like. All I have in my head are rough concepts and a few random memories that occasionally claw their way to the surface and echo in the walls of my mind like a familiar voice calling out to me from down a hall.

 

I remember stories of a revolution occurring on the other side of the ocean while I was still quite young, in a world that was so distant and yet pertinent. I remember the tides of revolution outstretching to our shores and engulfing the entire country in blood and flames. It had been that revolution which drew _him_ to Paris in the first place and thus, to me.

 

“Well, this country of yours was just barely a country back then,” I say.

 

“Wow,” she expels, her eyes widening in surprise. “Shit. You’re _old._ ”

 

“That’s relative,” I laugh.

 

It’s true, I’m probably older than most. I’ve come to find that there aren’t many of my kind older than me on this side of the Atlantic, that it’s mostly fledglings who inhabit the New World. But then, I know of many who are quite a bit older than myself, who still cling to their ancient homes on the other side of the world. 

 

“How did… you know…?”

 

Without saying any more, I know exactly what she’s asking. _How did it happen? How did I end up like this?_ Well, that’s one of the very few memories of my human life that is actually quite clear in my mind despite a lifetime spent trying to shake it. I could tell her, but I’m not bold enough to spoil the mood.

 

“Enough of this talk,” I say, rolling onto my back. “Come here.”

 

I reach for her again and she giggles as my hands find her hips, rolling her as well and then guiding her on top of me. She straddles my waist, smiling down at me, her face aglow.

 

“That’s better,” I sigh, smiling as my grip on her hips becomes a little tighter.

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Mmm,” I agree with a nod.

 

My instincts scream for me to ravish her, but I decide that this is more ideal. From this position, she’s the one in full control; I allow her to set the pace, one that’s comfortable for her. She slowly begins to roll her hips, testing the waters of desire as my greedy eyes grow dark from watching her ride me slowly and my hips cant upwards.

 

“Like this?”

 

My lashes flutter, my fingers dig deeper into her hips as I feel her grow damper by the second. The beast in me begins to whine and I spring forward until I’m sitting up, her in my lap, my lips hovering over her own and shift hanging just below the surface.

 

“ _Exactement.”_

 

When our lips connect, it’s deep and languorous. She takes great time and care to explore the softness of my usually jagged mouth and I do the same, eagerly returning as good as I’m getting. My fiending is suspended momentarily when I feel her hand glide across my chest and force me back down onto the mattress with a light pressure. Instead of challenging her, I allow her to pin me beneath her, her hand still resting flat against my sternum as she gazes down at me with a more mischievous look in her eyes, lower lip drawn between her teeth. The very sight stirs the beast from slumber again and I growl, my fangs unsheathing while black eyes comb over her lithe form. Bracing herself against me, her rolling hips grow heavier— confidant. She rides me with a steady flow and I watch the swell of her breasts as they sway, the faint but glossy sheen of sweat that’s summoned by exertion.

 

“You feel so good,” she moans beneath her breath, her wetness now mixing with my own.

 

It takes every ounce of control (and some I’m not even sure I possess) not to flip her and have her in the way the beast is calling for. Afraid that my sinking fingers are too firm, I abandon her hips and reach upwards towards the headboard, my fingers locking around cheap wood that cracks and crumbles beneath my grip. Neither of us care as her pace increases, the tiny brunette a whirlwind of panting and whimpering as she draws closer to completion, pulling me along with her like some faithful dog on leash.

 

When we do both finally unravel, it’s a collision of night and day; she becomes quiet and air-locked, the very thought of noise escaping her completely while her body shudders against mine, eyes drawn shut and lips wavering. I feel strangely human again when I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my body, such strangled sounds slipping from my own lips as my tremors match her own. I yowl as the heat overcomes me and swallows us both.

 

We lay pressed together like young lovers in the heat of summer as we both descend from our great high, my shif fading away again between the sweet coaxing of her lips as they shower my chest with teasing kisses. I smile lazily, trailing the backs of my fingers up and down her spine, both of us revealing in the brief and very basic contact.

 

“Have you ever—” she begins, pausing halfway through her thought to collect it more carefully. “Have you… felt like this before?”

 

Her hesitation comes from the uncertainty of my answer, of the potential to be rebuffed, although there’s not a shred of uncertainty in my mind. My hand slips into her braids and I guide her head back up towards my own until we’re locked in stare, barely an inch apart.

 

“Not once in my impossible life,” I speak honestly.

 

She’s beaming again, kissing me firmly. It’s a curious thing to watch her confidence grow over the course of a single night together, but it brings me joy. We lay in a comfortable silence for a little while, the tiny girl nestled into the crook of my body, the two of us fitting together like shards of broken glass reassembled. I even feel myself begin to drift off into slumber, though I quickly spring awake again when I feel her slip away.

 

“Where are you going?” I ask, trying to mask the panic in my voice as she slips out of the bed.

 

She smiles back at me, the familiarness of her glasses adorning her face once more.

 

“I have class in an hour. Remember?”

 

The panic settles as soon as I realize she isn’t abandoning me by choice, but even still, I’m unable to suppress the slight pout that finds my face while she saunters over to her closet, leaving me so very lonely in her bed.

 

“You’re going to leave me in your bed all day?” I ask almost incredulously.

 

She glances back at me from over her shoulder, that cheeky grin still firmly in place.

 

“Hey, there are worse places to be,” she shrugs.

 

I can’t help but smile.

 

“That’s true,” I mutter.

 

I watch the muscles in her back ripple as she fishes through her tiny closet for something suitable to wear, grabbing a very simple dress in an appealing shade of plum. She then wanders over to her dresser and opens the top drawer to retrieve a pair of tights and underwear.

 

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she tells me, beginning to dress herself. “I’d say help yourself to anything in the kitchen, but that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot to you.”

 

“No. Not really.”

 

We both laugh and it’s the strangest thing; I never thought a conversation about my inclinations would be so easy, so casual, as if we’re discussing the weather over breakfast like a typical couple. She doesn’t seem bothered by it in the least as she shuffles into the bathroom and out of my view.

 

“What do you do about that, anyway?” she calls out to me so I can hear her from the bathroom.

 

I sit up a little straighter in her bed.

 

“Blood?” I call back.

 

“Yeah.”

 

With a furrowed brow, I swing my feet over the edge of the mattress and find the ground again, padding over towards the bathroom to find her. I move swiftly, my movements so quiet and practiced that she doesn’t even hear me enter the bathroom and slip behind her. She’s brushing her teeth, hunched over the sink, and when she feels my hands slide around her waist she jumps to attention. I pull her back into my body and find her eyes in the mirror’s reflective surface, noting her look of confusion as she stares back at me, wondering how she’s able to see me at all.

 

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I whisper into her ear.

 

I’m fully aware of the mythology surrounding my kind— that we’re vulnerable to sunlight and bound to this world by our thirst for blood, that we have no reflection and are unable to enter someone’s home without a spoken invitation. Some of this is true, but much of it— as Cosima is coming to learn— is the product of some sort of active imagination, a sick fascination with the macabre. She brings the back of her hand to her lips, brushing away some toothpaste lingering at the corners.

 

“Do you, like— you know… _kill people?”_

 

I pause, carefully considering my answer. Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her about the man I killed the night I left her at that restaurant? _Would she think less of me?_ I don’t _actively_ kill people, if that’s the question she’s asking. It’s true, I’ve killed far too many in my time, but am I _still_ a killer if I no longer want to be, if I choose a different path? Does that erase everything that’s come before? Does a killer ever stop being a killer, or is it something one carries with them to the grave and beyond?

 

“No,” I say curtly.

 

She nods slowly, carefully shimmying out of my grasp so she can finish brushing her teeth. I watch her gather water into her cupped hand, swishing it around in her mouth to remove the remnants of the toothpaste before spitting it back into the sink. She gathers more water into her hands, splashing it on her face and proceeding to wash.

 

“The impulse is difficult to control at first, but the older you become, the better you get at controlling it,” I reveal, watching her in her morning ritual. “It’s easy to gorge yourself in the beginning, but I don’t require feedings quite so regularly anymore.”

 

She turns the faucet off, reaching for a towel to dry her face. Once she’s finished, she slips her glasses back on and turns around to face me again, leaning back against the counter as she stares up at me.

 

“But you feed off people,” she clarifies.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

I raise my hand to cup the side of her face, my fingers stroking her cheek tenderly. She’s completely absorbed, hanging on my every word as she waits for a further explanation, all patience and dangerous curiosity.

 

“I’ve been surviving off blood bags for many years now. But sometimes there are blood shortages, which makes procuring them rather difficult,” I explain. “In those instances, I turn to people. I’ve learned to feed from them without killing.”

 

“And what happens to the people you bite? Do they, like, turn into—”

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” I interject.

 

She places her hand over my own, removing it from her face and threading our fingers together. 

 

“For the most part, they’re fine. They wake up with a headache, perhaps a bout of nausea,” I add.

 

“And they don’t realize they’ve been bitten?” she asks, cocking her head.

 

“I can influence their thoughts— obscure their memories, make them believe whatever I tell them.”’

 

Her mouth parts slightly, my answer a surprise.

 

“Really? That’s crazy,” she mutters.

 

She moves along, exiting the bathroom and I wait a few seconds before following her. I watch her from the doorway as she gathers some books from her desk, as well as her laptop, and then slides them into her book bag with a deep, contemplative expression settled on her face.

 

“Have you ever—”

 

Once again, she stops herself before she can even ask the question.

 

“What?” I press.

 

“Have you done that… to me?”

 

I’m able to recognize her fear now. She wonders if this is a ruse, if her feelings are indeed her own or merely ones I’ve implanted in her. Without a moment’s hesitation I cross the room, closing the distance between us and cradling her face in my hands.

 

“No,” I swear. “I would never.”

 

“Why?” she asks quietly.

 

I press a kiss to the corner of her lips which still taste vaguely of mint, a smile my assurance.

 

_“Parce que tu es précieux à moi.”_

 

She quivers like a leaf in the wind beneath the weight of my words and the softness of my touch.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“That I wouldn’t want to change you.”

 

My kiss is centered this time, finding her lips full-on. She slings her arms around my neck and I gently squeeze at her waist, wanting nothing more than to undo all of her careful preparation for the day, to peel her dress from her body and carry her back to bed.

 

“Although I’m honestly considering it right now,” I joke, smiling against her lips. “I’d much rather you forget about your class and spend the day here with me.”

 

“I don’t think my professor would be too happy about that,” she giggles, stealing one last kiss before slipping out of my grasp and resuming her business. “Besides, it’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

 

I watch her as she gathers her coat from the living room floor, where it had been so carelessly discarded in our passion the night before. She slides into its warmth and prepares to tackle the cold, winter morning, looking back to offer me one last smile and some soft words of parting before she disappears out the door.

 

_“Impossible,”_ I utter to an empty room.

 

I retreat to Cosima’s bed, wrapping myself in blankets so saturated with her smell that I think I may drown in it, even without her here. I wrap myself in this strange but fascinating life of hers, I occupy myself with all things Cosima and allow the thought of her impending arrival to comfort me, to lull my beastly self into a state of rest. After more than two centuries, two hours should be nothing, yet they stretch and pull me in such ways, expanding over me like the sky— the only force in this life I’ve come to trust, come to rely on.

 

Until now.

 

 


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Once again, thanks for your overwhelming support. It really means the world to me and I can't thank you guys enough. I hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

“You seriously don’t know how to skate?”

 

I stand upon the sharpened blades like a baby giraffe finding its legs for the very first time, wobbling in my own uncertainty. Luckily for me, Cosima is more confident. She reaches forward, catching me by the arm and steadying me as I stare down at the ice beneath my feet with a frown.

 

“I never bothered to learn,” I confess. “I didn’t think it would be of any particular use to me.”

 

If I would have known even fifty years ago that I’d be on date at the local skating rink with Cosima, perhaps I would have taken lessons or at least found the time to teach myself so I could have avoided the embarrassment which fills me now.

 

“You’ve been alive forever. How do you not know how to skate?” she giggles.

 

I offer her a glare to match the scene.

 

“Okay, okay,” she relents, waving her hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t make fun of you. Just… give me your hands.”

 

I reluctantly reach towards her and she captures both of my hands in her own, slowly guiding us across the crowded rink. She glides backwards with relative ease, periodically glancing behind her to make sure we don’t crash into anyone else while she tries to coax me into finding some sort of flow.

 

“That’s it. Nice and easy,” she encourages me, grinning like a fool.

 

From my periphery I notice a young boy no more than seven or eight come whizzing by like a professional with his father close behind, the two shouting and laughing at one another. I glance across to the other side of the rink and see a mother with her even younger daughter, the girl clinging to a chair and having more success than myself. Cosima attempts to loosen her grip for a moment but I already feel myself beginning to fall and so I quickly refasten myself to her.

 

“This is stupid,” I grumble, making no attempt to mask my displeasure.

 

“It’s nice,” she counters, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “I like sharing something new with you. You’ve seen and done pretty much everything, but this is something that’s just ours, you know?”

 

When she words it in such a way, it doesn’t seem like such a terrible date after all. She’d had to nearly drag me to this cursed rink and bribe me with vividly unchaste promises just to convince me to slip on a pair of borrowed skates, but I think all of the frustration and humiliation is worth it just to see her shine so brightly.

 

“And even when I’m dead and you’ve tacked on another hundred years or so, we’ll always have this.”

 

She speaks with such enthusiasm, such joy and lightness, though there’s a heaviness to her words that pulls me all the way down to the very bottom. _Even when she’s dead_. Because death is an inevitability with humans. Death is _our_ inevitability; she may be young now, but time will bleed out like a stuck pig until not a single drop remains, until she’s nothing more than a memory in my mind.

 

“Can we go now?” I ask her, my mood rapidly declining.

 

“Dude, we just got here! We’ve only been around the rink once,” she exclaims. “You haven’t even tried to skate by yourself yet.”

 

“Fine. I’ll try,” I huff. “Then can we go?”

 

She laughs, slowly letting go of my hands as I begin to glide on my own. 

 

“God. You’re such a buzzkill,” she tells me.

 

She hangs close by in case I fall, watching me with her eyes lit up like fairground lights.

 

“Do you really think so?” I counter, trying my hardest to focus on not falling over.

 

My success is short-lived when we come to the end of the rink and she instructs me to turn to avoid hurling into the boards. I try my best to turn my body and follow her, though I lose my footing and fall backwards onto my ass. Luckily my body is much too durable for such a fall to injure me, though I sit on my rear with a stunned expression on my face as she howls with laughter.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, skating back over and lowering herself into my lap. “Next time I’ll let you pick the date.”

 

She wraps her arms around my neck and I smile up at her, suddenly quite comfortable despite the icy hardness under my ass. A few people glance over in our direction but for the most part, nobody seems to be paying too much attention to our scene.

 

“You already owe me for this, you know,” I whisper into her ear.

 

She laughs throatily, throwing her head back.

 

“Do I?”

 

I squeeze her hips with a firm pressure.

 

“There’s no going back on your word now,” I warn her.

 

She plants a kiss upon my cheek before springing to her feet again, reaching down for me. I accept her hand and allow her to pull me to my feet, as well, but once she does, she immediately lets go.

 

“Well, you’re gonna have to catch me if you want me to make good on those promises,” she teases, gliding away from me with a wink.

 

I hopelessly chase her around the rink for some time before she finally decides to take pity on me and allows me to capture her. Hand-in-hand, we return our skates to the rental desk and she tells me to take her home.

 

“Come home with me,” I offer instead.

 

“Really?”

 

I had been hesitant before, not entirely comfortable with inviting her into my world, into all the darkness that clings to my reality. I had been scared that she’d be deterred by it, that once she actually saw the truth and allowed it to enter her, she’d go running in the opposite direction. But here she is, steady as the rolling tide and so I extend the invitation. She accepts it with a burst of excitement and drags me to the nearest bus stop to wait for transportation. 

 

There’s something so refreshingly mundane about all of this, something so excitingly normal about going on a date like a regular couple, riding the bus like an average person. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt even a shred of normalcy and I realize that it isn’t half as painful as I remember it being. In fact, it’s quite pleasant to walk the streets at night with the warmth of another at my side.

 

“This is your place?” 

 

I detect a hint of skepticism as we come to a stop in front of the building— a fairly typical-looking townhouse with a row of stairs leading down towards the basement entrance. She pauses at the top of the concrete steps and I venture lower, working the key into the lock.

 

“Hm. I guess it makes sense,” she muses. “Less sunlight and all that.”

 

With the door open, I turn back towards her with a smile and motion with a nod of my head for her to enter. She hops down the steps and follows me inside, her expression shifting as soon as I flick on the lights and the entire apartment is illuminated.

 

“Whoa,” she breathes, slowly twirling to take in her surroundings. “It’s, like… _super_ nice in here. You weren’t lying before when you told me you had money.”

 

We’re both familiar now with how deceiving appearances can be. The unit is far more spacious than she probably guessed, recently renovated with a stainless steel kitchen and a cozy living room. There are few windows throughout but each one has been modified, able to automatically tint at the press of a button and block out the sun completely. The decor is, admittedly, a little bare; the kitchen lacks any sort of personal flare and aside from the various glasses and mugs currently occupying the dishwasher and a few pots and pans in the cupboards that were left behind by whom I can only assume was the previous tenant, it looks as it did the day I moved in. The living room is void of any artwork, as well; there’s a black leather couch with a couple of matching armchairs for my nonexistent company, a coffee table, as well as a few large bookcases filled with all of my books, a deep pitted carpet and a couple of standing lamps to add a hint of ambience. 

 

“You’re like a real person,” Cosima mumbles to herself, her eyes drinking in my sad excuse for a life.

 

“Oh, I’m very real.”

 

I watch her with a smirk, knowing full well that her comment had been one of her stray thoughts wandering out from her head. Upon hearing my voice she perks up, her attention reclaimed. She turns around to face me and offers me a timid smile.

 

“I know that. I just— I don’t know,” she tries to explain herself. “I guess it was stupid of me to assume that you lived in a crypt, or maybe some super old, gothic mansion?”

 

“Nothing quite as glamorous, I’m afraid,” I answer, stepping closer to help her out of her coat and scarf. “Gothic manors are hard to come by these days.”

 

I hang them on the rack by the door right next to mine as she kicks off her boots and heads for my bedroom. I follow her lead, removing my own boots and trailing after her. I find her standing in front of my dresser, running her fingers along the few possessions which cover the top— a jewelry box which houses my earrings and necklaces, rings and bangles; a bottle of expensive perfume, the scent of which I’ve grown quite fond of; a makeup bag full of all my cosmetics. Aside from the blood bags sitting in my fridge, there’s nothing in this entire apartment to indicate that a monster lives here. In fact, it’s all rather painfully normal, an observation which is not lost to her.

 

“You have, like, a kitchen and a bedroom and everything,” she says. “Do you even need half this stuff?”

 

“No,” I shrug.

 

I creep up close behind her, watching her digest the small glimpse of my life she’s been given. She seems enamoured by it, excited to be standing in the center of it all— much like I was the first night I glimpsed her through her window, seeing her small and strangely fascinating life unfold within such a contained space.

 

“Come to bed, _mon amour,_ ” I purr, wrapping her in my arms.

 

I smother my face in the softness of her neck, noting every single pimple which rises. I press my nose to her jugular and inhale rather deeply. The gesture sends a grand tremor rolling down her spine and even though it’s been nearly a month since our first night together, nearly a month of every night spent learning each other’s bodies, there’s still something dangerous and uncertain about _this_.

 

“Are you hungry?” she whispers.

 

“No,” I reply too quickly, planting a placating kiss behind her ear.

 

She twists in my arms and meets my gaze which grows darker and darker by the second. It’s as if she can smell the lie on me, or maybe I’m not as sly as I think and the truth has always been far too obvious. _Of course I’m hungry. How can I not hunger for her?_ I think back on my meeting with Marion, on her words which ring in my ears.

 

_“You could gorge yourself for days and even still, a single touch would be enough to ignite you again.”_

 

“You’re looking at me like you want to…,” she begins, her voice growing quiet until it peters out completely.

 

At my age, I don’t require feedings regularly. I can usually go a couple of weeks between meals and yet ever since I met Cosima, I find myself having to feed before I see her every single time just to be sure I don’t lose control. My last meal was just a few hours earlier— I had engulfed an entire bag of O positive in a few seconds before leaving my apartment to pick her up. Was Marion right? Will my hunger _never_ be sated until I finally succumb to the pull? 

 

“I fed before I came to see you,” I try to explain, to ease her anxiety. “I have blood in the fridge.”

 

There’s an immediate shift in her mood. The anxiety is gone, replaced by a blazing curiosity.

 

“Really?” she asks. “Can I…?”

 

She slips out of my grasp and skips out of my bedroom, over to the kitchen like an eager child. I follow her and stop dead in my tracks when I see her reaching for the fridge.

 

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice laced with uncertainty.

 

The answer is obvious. She grabs hold of the handle and swings the fridge door open, her jaw dropping slightly as soon as she sees the rows of blood bags neatly stacked upon the shelf. She grabs one and holds it in her hands, inspecting it closely as the bag squishes and my fists clench at my sides and my canines buzz.

 

“How do you drink it?” she asks, her lips upturning into a smile of amazement. “Like, straight from the bag? Or do you heat it up and drink it out of a wine glass like a classy broad?”

 

“Cosima…”

 

She’s unaware of her affect on me as she dangles the blood bag in front of my face in an almost teasing manner. I lick my lips, unable to deny my hunger now. She notices my leering and cocks her head, shooting me a questioning glance.

 

“What?”

 

My eyes zero in on the bag and I bury my teeth in my bottom lip in a bid to keep my fangs sheathed. My struggling is all too apparent now and she releases a deep and heavy sigh. She steps a little closer, causing my entire body to tense even tighter than it already is until I’m drawn as taut as a bow.

 

“You’re hungry. I know you are,” she says, holding the blood bag out towards me. “Here.”

  
Even with her permission, even with the primal call screaming in my ear, I shake my head and reject them both like a stubborn child.

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?” she counters, reaching for my hand. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

 

I frown, staring down at her hand in mine. 

 

“I don’t want you to see me like that,” I confess, my voice a whisper. “It’s not right.”

 

She may have seen my real face but she’s yet to see the very truth of what I am. I’ve never been ashamed or overly self-conscious of my nature before and if she were anyone else it wouldn’t bother me even half as much. But this is _Cosima_. This is _my Cosima—_ sweet and open and forgiving. Would she remain all these things if she really _knew?_ I fear the beast will rob all of these parts from her, the very best ones which I’ve grown to love and envy so much.

 

“It’s fine, Delphine. It’s… it’s just who you are,” she rationalizes, nodding slowly to emphasize her understanding. “You can’t control it, so there’s no point in fighting and getting all moody about it. May as well just embrace it.”

 

She manages to invoke the smallest smile from my lips.

 

“You sound like one of us,” I utter.

 

How many times have I heard that line? Although it’s mostly uttered as an excuse from one of my own and not from a tiny human staring up at me with deep and loving eyes.

 

“Well, it’s true,” she retorts with the hint of a laugh. “You know. Nature and all that shit.”

 

_Ever the scientist._

 

She slips the bag into my hand and waits until I reluctantly take hold of it on my own. Then she places her hand over my own and gives it a gentle, supporting squeeze. I’m unable to fight back yet another coy smile.

 

“I won’t watch, if it makes you feel any better,” she offers. 

 

Without another word, I turn away from her and reach above my head, opening one of the cupboards above the stove. I retrieve a saucepan from the cupboard and place it on one of the burners, opening the bag quite easily with my teeth. She watches me in silence as I empty the contents of the bag into the saucepan and turn the burner on, the gas flicking three times before the small fire eventually ignites.

 

“Would you like tea?” I ask, turning my head to the side so she can hear me.

 

Before she even answers I collect another saucepan from the same cupboard and bring it to the sink, filling it about halfway with water before placing it on the burner adjacent to the one which is heating the blood.

 

“Tea? Why do you have tea? You don’t drink tea.”

 

I smirk.

 

“I know. But you do.”

 

She slinks in closer with a smirk of her own.

 

 

 

“Ah. So you _were_ planning on bringing me back here all along,” she confirms.

 

“I just like to be prepared,” I shrug.

 

She leans in closer, inching up on the tips of her toes until her lips hover over my own.

 

“Very smooth.”

 

I wrap my arms around her waist, her own instantly wrapping around my neck as they usually do. 

 

“I thought so,” I admit as I nuzzle the side of her face.

 

She tilts into my kiss then, her lips finding mine slow and easy. Her jaw goes slack to grant my teasing tongue entry and we both groan as our muscles duel against each other and my hands drop from her waist to the swell of her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Visions flash through my mind of all the promises she’d made to me earlier and I growl in excitement, breaking our kiss to allow my fangs to escape.

 

“Uhh… maybe you should feed before we— ”

 

She stops herself, further words unnecessary. I know exactly what she’s thinking and she’s right. I begrudgingly turn my attention back to the stove and dip my index finger into the saucepan filled with blood to check the temperature. It’s about body temperature and I smile, bringing my finger to my lips to suck away the blood. She watches in awe as I turn the burner off and reach into the dishwasher for a mug, pouring the blood into the ceramic cup. I then set the saucepan in the sink and fill it with soap and water, leaving it to soak.

 

“That’s… oddly domestic,” she comments upon seeing my ritual.

 

“I suppose it isn’t as grotesque as I may have thought,” I say sheepishly.

 

The second saucepan has come to a light boil and I turn that burner off, as well, placing the pan into the sink with the other. I grab a tiny bag of peppermint tea from the box on the counter and drop it into another clean mug before adding the hot water and handing it to Cosima. She thanks me with a smile, gently blowing on her tea and we both take a small sip of our drinks in unison.

 

“What’s it taste like?” she asks, watching me over the rim of her own mug as I take a couple of gulps.

 

“Blood,” I deadpan.

 

“Ha ha,” she counters, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Fuck being a doctor. You have a promising career in standup comedy ahead of you.”

 

“What do you expect me to say?” I ask.

 

“I dunno. I mean, does it taste all coppery like it tastes to people? Or does it taste like chocolate to you?” she presses. “You said how real food always taste like dirt or rotting meat, so does blood taste amazing or something?”

 

I pause, considering her question.

 

“I honestly don’t know,” I say. “I don’t really notice the taste anymore. Except for—”

 

I stop myself.

 

“For… what?”

 

I lock eyes with her.

 

“Except for when it’s fresh.”

 

It’s true. 

 

Nothing simply compares to the taste of fresh blood. Not only is it hot and racing into your mouth, but it’s laced with adrenaline and other chemicals that the brain releases when one is frightened or near death. Drinking blood from a bag is enough to sustain you, but not enough to _truly_ satisfy. Blood from the source is full of fire and flare— you can taste a person’s age and virility, taste their entire life on your tongue. 

 

“It’s better when it’s fresh,” she says, drawing her own conclusion.

 

I nod slowly, our eyes still locked.

 

My cup is empty now and I'm unaware of the tiniest smudge of red lingering at the corner of my lips until she sets her tea down and approaches me slowly, pulling my mug from my hands and placing it aside so that she can invade my space more fully. Her lips find the smudge and she kisses it gingerly. I feel my entire being erupt as she soothes and erases and before I know what’s happening, we’re halfway to my bedroom with her in my arms, our mouths fused together.

 

I take her hard and slow and fast and long all at the very same time, our bodies moving in such a way that time itself seems to crumble and cease beneath the weight of our impossibility. And when the dust settles, when the universe assembles and expands itself again, there she is— at peace in my arms, head resting upon my still and hollow chest as if it were some sacred conch, full of oceans only she can hear.

 

 


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** I know, I know. This one is long overdue. I’ve been way too busy lately, but now that Christmas is out of the way, I’m free of all distractions! Besides, I think this one is kinda worth the wait, too. Enjoy :)

“You’re amazing,” I groan, satin sheets balled within my pale fists.

 

The arch in my spine relents, my back lowering until it’s flat against the mattress again and I swear I feel strangely out of breath (or at least what I remember being out of breath feels like). I dare to open my eyes, to peak down at her nestled so snuggly between my open legs with a cat-like grin and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She presses one last kiss to my damp and aching sex before resting her head upon my lower abdomen, right above the soft patch of curls.

 

“You’re so hot when you come,” she says with a breath of laughter, voice raspy from her previous exertion as her index finger absently traces my jutting hipbone. “I love seeing you lose control like that.”

 

I laugh at her comment, cracking a lazy half-smile of my own. It’s true— Cosima is able to bring me closer to that edge than anyone or anything that’s ever come before her— but I’ve yet to truly allow myself to go toppling over it. My grip is tight but never crushing, my fangs unsheathed yet never drawn into a snarl; my hunger for her finds momentary relief beneath her touch but is never fully sated.

 

She works her way up my body, lips grazing over the flat of my stomach and curve of my breasts before finding mine again in a kiss that’s hot and receptive, my mouth open and waiting for her with all the eagerness of a soldier’s wife. She swipes her tongue over one of my throbbing canines and I groan again, pulling back for a moment to look upon her with eyes blackened by the beast or my desire— I’m unsure of which.

 

“I even love these,” she whispers, tracing the length of my protruding hunger.

 

The pad of her thumb finds the very tip of one fang in all of its pointed glory. I feel the bounciness of her flesh, the way it nearly gives beneath such a focused pressure. I hiss, knowing all I have to do is press down ever-so-slightly and I’ll be rewarded with the sweetest, faintest taste of her blood.

 

Just a drop.

 

_Would that be enough?_

 

I find her eyes again, detecting a muted hint of fear hiding amongst the awe and adoration, hiding behind her loving words. It may be minuscule, but it’s still there and I’m unable to escape it, unable to succumb to my own hunger so long as that fear is staring me in the face. I expel a long sigh before moving in a flash, rolling out from under her and perching atop the edge of the bed. She merely arches a brow in my direction, confused by the sharp and sudden distance I’ve created between us.

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s nothing,” I lie, a smile forcing its way onto my features.

 

“Really? Doesn’t look like nothing.”

 

She inches her way closer to me until I feel her lips against the curve of my spine and my eyes flutter at the sensation.

 

“I know what you are, Delphine,” she whispers, her voice cutting through the quiet. “And I’m okay with it— _all of it_.”

 

I freeze, my body reaching a brand new level of rigour as her words permeate and I feel the weight of them press against me more fully. Even with her confirmation, a part of me is unable to fully believe her. 

 

“Let’s not speak of this,” I dismiss her, slinking out of her embrace once again. “Not now, _ma cherie.”_

 

“Fine. Not now,” she reluctantly submits. “Then when?”

 

Perhaps I’m simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the truth to come leaking through and capsize our ship. How much longer can we maintain this domestic bliss? As happy as I am and as painful as it is to ponder, it hardly seems sustainable. 

 

I hear the defeat in her sigh as I disregard her question and abandon our nest. I make my way over to the bathroom and flick on the light, feeling the plushness of the bath mat sink beneath my feet as I turn on the shower faucet and watch while hot water comes cascading down from the shower head.

  
“You know, you never answered my question before.”

 

She slides in behind me, quiet and sure. Even though I haven’t extended a formal invitation, she hardly needs one to join me and she pulls the glass door shut with a smile, trapping us inside with the billowing steam.

 

“You just distracted me with your feminine wiles,” she adds, sliding her arms around my waist from behind, holding me close to her.

 

It takes me a moment to recall her prior question, the one she’d posed before my wandering hands got the better of me and we ended up entangled in each other; with her finals out of the way and the school year coming to an official close, her and a group of friends had made plans to go for drinks in celebration, to blow off some steam before some returned home for the summer and others began working. She’d made a point to invite me, as well, though I hadn’t thought at the time that there was any true intent behind her words.

 

“You were serious?” 

 

I’m unable to hide my bemused expression as I turn in her arms and look down at the petite girl.

 

“Of course I’m serious,” she says, her smile a crooked fixation. “I want you to come.”

 

Scalding water streaks down my body, soaking my hair and rolling off the plains of my breasts, down my stomach and thighs. As if roused by instinct, she reaches for the loofah and the bottle of body wash that are stowed away on the shower caddy.

 

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea,” I admit, watching as she works a generous amount of body wash into the loofah and begins to lather it in her hands.

 

“Please?”

 

Her eyes are wide and open and waiting for me to stumble into them like a rabbit into a hunter’s trap. I contemplate her proposal, mull it over in my mind as she waits for my response, her hands gently running the loofah over my chest.

 

“Come on,” she pushes, suds engulfing my body. “This is important to me.”

 

I sigh, allowing her to complete her task of washing me, all without saying a single word. My silence hangs thicker than the steam and even though she tries not to let it bother her, I can see the frown start to form when she begins to suspect that my answer is the undesired one. 

 

“I already told them you were coming,” she says a little more firmly.

 

A tiny smirk tugs at my lips as I watch her attempt to change her tactics, to appeal to me in some other way.

 

“Well, that was foolish of you,” I counter, slipping out of her grasp for a moment so I can step beneath the spray of the shower once more and rinse myself off.

 

She sighs this time, her frustration swimming off of her in shallow rings. I snatch the loofah from her and turn her body so that her back is to me, then run the spongey material over her back, washing her with a loving attentiveness that even she can’t deny in her irritated state.

 

“They’re my friends. And you’re my _girlfriend,”_ she speaks, her voice an octave lower. “I want you to be a part of my life— _all_ aspects of it. Not just _this._ ”

 

My ministrations come to a stark halt as soon as the words finish leaving her lips.

 

“You know that will never happen,” I whisper, my eyes both sad and dark as the night I cling to. “I can’t—”

 

She turns back around to face me again, her hands sliding up the length of my neck to cup my face, cradling it in her hands. She sees the sadness in my eyes but smiles anyway, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. As I gaze into her eyes, I see myself reflected back and remarkably enough, the shape bares a far closer resemblance to a mere woman than it does to the beast I know to be true.

 

_Is this how she sees me?_

 

I dare to wonder. 

 

“Just come drink with me, Delphine.”

 

She says it so simply, her words so unburdened, that I can’t possibly deny her.

 

_“D’accord.”_

 

 

\+ + + + + + + + + +

 

 

The bar— if you could even call it that— is small and loud and bursting at the seams with young people, their stench hanging in the air like a thick, unwelcome musk that chokes my senses. She informed me that this place is a popular student hangout but I still find myself unprepared for the level of foolishness and debauchery that’s become synonymous with student life; couples grind and grope each other on the cramped, barely present dance floor as some current hip-hop track blares from the speaker system. Others crowd the bar, shouting their orders across the counter at an equally unimpressed-looking man whom I sense may be my only ally in all of this. The entire place is dimly lit, with fairy lights pinned upon the graffiti’d walls to give it a hint of ambience while trying much too hard to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. Overall, it’s the kind of dive I would never be caught dead (or undead) in if it weren’t for my lover’s request.

 

“Over there!” she shouts over the music, squeezing my hand tighter as she uses her free one to point to an occupied table. 

 

There are five people currently gathered around the filthy, uneven plank of wood— two girls and three boys around Cosima’s age, all of them engaged in a loud and boisterous conversation that already makes me regret my decision. She drags me over to where they’re sitting and the second they notice us approaching, they immediately redirect their attention towards us.

 

“Cosima! You came!” one overly-eager boy proclaims, standing up from his spot on the bench to greet her.

 

Everyone seems friendly and welcoming enough as Cosima introduces me to the group and I reluctantly accept their hands. The eager boy— Colton— shuffles down the stiff and uncomfortable bench to make room for the two of us. Cosima slots herself between us and offers me a reassuring smile, though it’s fuzzy in comparison to the sharp outline of Colton on the other side of her, my eyes narrowed and focused on the young man. His own gaze is subtle but undoubtedly lowered to the dip of Cosima’s neckline, a fact which has my hands balled into volatile fists at my side.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” a perky blonde— Kayla— says, addressing me with a warm smile and momentarily distracting me from my growing contempt. “Cosima’s always talking about you, but we were all starting to think she made you up.”

 

“Yeah. She said she was dating this super hot, older french girl but we thought it was a total crock,” Colton laughs. “Who would have guessed she was actually telling the truth?”

 

They all begin to chuckle, the sound of which drowns out the exploding bass in the speakers and the noise of the other patrons. I turn to Cosima and half-expect her to match my exasperation, though I’m met by just the opposite; her laughter is light and playful and makes my stomach drop a few levels until I feel it in my knees.

 

Everywhere I turn, I’m surrounded by human sounds— laughter and conversation and a warmth I’m not privy to. I’m silent for the most part, watching as they interact with each other. I’m sure Cosima has mentioned at least a few of their names in passing before, though I can hardly remember anything of import which makes striking up a conversation exceedingly difficult. They talk about their finals, how glad they are that their freshman year is finally complete and summer is right around the corner. It’s the strangest thing, watching Cosima with these people. It’s a side of her, I realize, I’m rarely afforded. 

 

The side that’s awake, that thrives in the light where I dare not follow.

 

Cosima’s hand remains planted on my thigh under the table, her fingers gently stroking and acknowledging my presence even in my persistent silence. As the night slowly jogs onward we drain our drinks, the others splitting a few pitchers of cheap beer while I settle for gin and tonic, and as the alcohol begins to vanish from our glasses and seep into bloodstreams, the laughter becomes even louder and slightly off-putting, the conversations even less tolerable. I’ve been spoiled with Cosima’s company and I’ve almost forgotten how dull most humans really are. I’m quickly reminded as they flirt rather pitifully with each other and I try my hardest to contain an eye roll and beat back a scowl. 

 

I decide instead to focus on Cosima, on her easy smile, the blush of her cheeks and the subtle glaze in her eyes as she buzzes. I wouldn’t say she’s fully drunk, though the alcohol seems to have her in a highly-spirited mood which starkly contrasts my own. And then on a whim, Kayla mentions dancing and they all begin to chirp, crackling with anticipation. Colton, Kayla and another boy in our party named Jeff all rise and scurry out onto the dance floor and my body stills completely when I catch Cosima rising, as well.

 

“Let’s dance!” she exclaims, tugging at my arm in a bid to raise me to my feet.

 

The request is innocent enough, though as my eyes fix on the others, on their sloppiness as they grind into one another and stumble all over the sticky floor, any desire I may have secretly harboured to dance with my lover is dashed. 

 

I lift my drink to my lips, downing the remnants.

 

“I don’t think so,” I dismiss her from over the rim, my body stiff and steady in its seat.

 

I had promised her that I would come and meet her friends and here I am, sitting amongst these strangers while pretending I don’t abhor every foolish, self-indulgent word that leaves their mouths. I never promised her that I’d enjoy our “date,” or that I’d take to the dance floor. I’m actually quite a skilled dancer, always graceful and sure in my movements, but my desire to flit about with Cosima is completely diminished by the presence of these unworthy onlookers.

 

“Oh, come on,” she tries to coax me. “You’re being a buzzkill again.”

 

I’m aware that I’m being especially difficult tonight, but my self-awareness changes nothing. I remain unmoved and unimpressed by the night’s events, passively haunted by this sudden exposure to Cosima’s life.

 

Her _real_ life.

 

The one she leads without me, the one that seems to be full of such simple and straightforward delights. Even though it all appears so frivolous in my eyes, I can’t deny the smile which has been plastered upon her face since we first walked through the door. I can’t deny the _safety_ of it all, the steadiness that these humans offer her. I wonder which reality she prefers— the one she’s built with me, or this one? 

 

“I’m not in a dancing mood.”

 

I don’t mean to sound _quite_ so stern, but I seem to get my point across because she abandons my hand and frowns.

 

“Fine. Okay.”

 

She stalks away without another word, joining her friends who seem to be enjoying themselves. Only two hang back at the table with me— Allie and Zach, the young couple who are more interested in each other than anyone else in their party. I ignore them as they steal wet, unpracticed kisses from each other, my eyes following Cosima as she moves her body in a most mesmerizing way.

 

“So, how did you and Cosima meet?”

 

I glance over to find that the pair has stopped necking long enough to acknowledge my existence. I can smell the uncertainty on them both, can tell that they’re just a little uncomfortable with my presence and would much prefer some privacy. Allie tries to be courteous by asking the question, though I doubt she even cares about my answer. Even still, I humour her.

 

“By chance,” I reply. “I guess I sort of… stumbled into her life one night.”

 

“Aww. That’s romantic,” I hear her sigh.

 

“Not really,” I mutter, my attention back on Cosima where it belongs.

 

Kayla and Jeff seem to have paired off, the boy wrapping his arms around the blonde’s waist and thrusting into her from behind, their hips gyrating to the beat of the song. Cosima remains oblivious to their lewdness, her arms and torso blowing about like slender branches in the wind. I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone dance quite like that before and I smile, finding some sort of peace in knowing that she’s enjoying herself even if it’s without me.

 

That is, until I notice that _cretin_ slip in from behind.

 

He moves stealthily, inching closer and closer under a platonic guise. He isn’t bold enough to actually place his hands on her body (though I have no doubt that he would if the opportunity presented itself), but his body rolls in a way that’s meant to match hers. My nostrils flare when he presses himself up against her with a little more pressure and they continue to roll with the music.

 

“ _Oh._ Uh… _yeah_ ,” I hear Allie speak from a watery distance, caution in her voice. “Colt can get kinda… umm…”

 

I push up from the table, my swiftness rattling our glasses. I’m sure Zach and Allie are watching me intently as I make a beeline towards the dance floor, my fists clenched and eyes molten. I have half a mind to disembowel the boy for even daring to _consider_ Cosima in such a way, but he spots me coming and instinctively darts out of the way.

 

Cosima doesn’t spot me, though.

 

Her eyes are closed, head tipped upward and lost in the sound. She’s oblivious to her surroundings, to the sea of people I part until we’re the only ones on the dance floor and all eyes are watching us from a distance. I grab her roughly by the hips, pulling her back into me and seizing her attention.

 

“What—?”

 

One arm remains snaked around her waist while the other slides around her front, tracing a path upward until it finds her chin, tilting her head back as far as it can go until her neck is drawn taut, her jugular exposed. She sighs when my lips find the sensitive expanse of flesh and I shower her with kisses.

 

_“J'ai envie de toi,”_ I whisper huskily.

 

Even though the words escape in my native tongue, she’s well acquainted with them— I’ve whispered them to her so many times, after all. And even though I’m unable to gaze upon her face from my position, my vision is hardly necessary to read her expression. I can hear the flutter of her lashes, feel the hitch in her breath.

 

“Now?”

 

The location isn’t ideal but I find myself overcome by the need to have her. You see, this isn’t _just_ about encroaching pests; I find myself needing to solidify my position in her life, more so for my own sake than for hers— to convince myself that all the laughter and dancing and easiness will never take my place, that I can find somewhere to fit among it. Nimble fingers find the button of her pants and quickly pop it free, but before they can continue any further I feel herown fingers encircle my wrists and hold me still.

 

“No,” she breathes, gently shaking her head. “Not here.”

 

I’m not used to being rebuffed and it takes me a short moment to gather myself, to shake off the rejection and press forward. Even though her words hint at one thing, her body tells a very different story; the prospect of me taking her in front of so many sets of eyes has her anxious but I know I can coax my way inside of her if I continue with my seduction, if I can distract her from the less than romantic atmosphere.

 

“I want to make you mine,” I purr, sucking on the lobe of her ear— an act known to drive her wild.

 

Her knees buckle and a quiet whimper escapes her when my hand previously wrapped around her waist slithers higher to fondle a breast. All around us people watch and whisper, though their noise is overshadowed by my hunger for her.

 

“Y-Yours?”

 

“Yes,” I nod into her neck, inhaling deeply. “ _Mine—_ right here.”

 

A low growl escapes me, one I smother into her neck. I expect this to entice her further just as it always has and I feel the pull of my fangs at the surface, throbbing with anticipation. But then her body goes completely stiff in my arms and she grabs at my hands.

 

“Stop it.”

 

Before I realize what’s really happening, she pulls herself from my grasp and promptly heads for the exit. 

 

I feel a great, sharp panic shoot through me.

 

“Cosima!” I call out to her.

 

She ignores me, disappearing through the door and leaving every eye in the bar to fall on me alone. I’m oblivious to our audience, though. How can I care about how foolish I look when Cosima is clearly upset with me? I go racing after her without a second thought, pushing through people on my quest for the door. As soon as I burst through it, my eyes scan the surrounding area for the sight of my lover and I’m pleased to discover that she hasn’t gone too far— only half a block. I call out to her again and dart after her, easily closing the distance between us. She never breaks pace, only stopping to turn and acknowledge me when I reach for her arm.

 

“I’m not some fence post you can just piss on, you know!” she snaps, recoiling from my touch.

 

There’s a fire about her, a wrath I haven't felt since I first came back from Europe after abandoning her on that rooftop, before we were lovers. I bow beneath it, knowing better than to challenge her anger this time.

 

“Of course. I know that,” I say in a hushed voice.

 

I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to hear her speak so crudely about our relationship. I feel the guilt begin to bubble, suddenly ashamed of my actions; it hadn’t been my intention to make her feel so… _cheap._

 

“Then why do you have to do that? _Treat me like that?_ ”

 

My head drops, unable to meet her gaze.

 

“T-That boy was—”  
  
“Don’t even go there!” she loudly interrupts, heading me off. “Colton was _dancing_ with me! Because I wanted to dance and _you_ wouldn’t!”

 

Never has a human made me feel so small before. I realize now my mistake— that in fearing I’d lose Cosima, I inadvertently pushed her away. I open my mouth to speak, to try to explain myself to her, but the words evade me and I find myself gaping as she watches and waits for me to say something.

 

“I… I’m sorry,” I mutter, my mouth dry and throat hard.

 

She scoffs, clearly unimpressed with the pathetic sight before her.

 

“I don’t want you to be sorry!” she snaps again, this time her voice strained. “I want you to dance with me, Delphine! I want you to _talk_ to me and not shrug me off because you think I can’t handle it or whatever!”

 

I nod slowly, acknowledging her words and demonstrating my understanding of her frustration. She is right, after all. There’s so much I haven’t told her, so much I’ve been withholding out of fear. I hear Marion’s words ringing in my ears louder than ever and they only quiet when I notice her stepping closer.

 

“I _am_ yours,” she says more softly this time. “But you’re _mine_ , too. That’s how this works. That’s the _only_ way this works.”

 

Her words urge my lowered head upward again and she’s standing so close now, her brow bent like an inverted horseshoe, her eyes large and swimming. They summon my own gaze and when we become locked in stare again, she reaches for me not with hands that shake of anger, but those which quiver with a type of sadness. I find them with cold hands of my own and hold them steady.

 

“So _be with me,”_ she pleads, her voice wavering. “Be mine.”

 

I nod again, more enthusiastically this time. 

 

“I want to be yours,” I confess, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to.”

 

_I just don’t always know how._

 

As quickly as it manifested, the fire seemingly vanishes— doused by the sincerity in my voice, the integrity somewhere in my empty chest which she quickly fills. Her smile is small, but it’s there. She steps into me, wrapping her arms around me in a warm yet tentative embrace.

 

“Good,” she breathes, the rigidness in her body slowly seeping away. “Then take me home.”

 

And I do.

 

We return to my apartment and even though she appears to have forgiven me for my actions at the bar (or at least disregard them momentarily), I hover about her like a moth to a flame— drawn to her light but still too delicate and too afraid to touch. She excuses herself to the bathroom and I shed my clothes, slipping into bed and pulling the covers up over myself to hide. When the bathroom door opens again several minutes later and I hear her emerge, I close my eyes and feign sleep, uncertain in my footing and unwilling to disturb the fragile peace between us. I feel her gaze on me, feel her standing over me for a moment in contemplation before she slides in next to me and flicks the side lamp off, shrouding the room in darkness.

 

We lay in silence.

 

I can tell by the pattern of her breathing that she’s not yet asleepbut she remains fixed on her side of the bed, quiet and still. She seems just as uncertain as I am and I’m not sure what I expect her to do. Perhaps she’ll call out quietly to rouse me from my fake slumber. Perhaps she’ll continue to ignore me. I hardly expect the heat of her touch as she presses up against me from behind, her petite body spooning my own as her hand slips across my belly and settles just above my sex.

 

“I know you’re still awake,” she whispers in my ear.

 

I immediately roll over to face her, eyes flickering and open wide. She licks her lips and I find myself knowing exactly how this evening will play out— in the way I least expected it to.

 

“Are you sure?” I ask, hesitation present. “Are you not still upset with me?”

 

She laughs lightly, rolling me over onto my back and slowly climbing on top to straddle me.

 

“I may have been pissed off at you for being a total ass, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to finish what you started,” she says, grabbing my hands and guiding them towards the fullness of her breasts. “Now’s your chance to make it up to me.”

 

I groan quietly when I feel the weight of them in my palms and she sighs, allowing me to have her in the way I always want her. I move quickly, flipping her onto her back and hovering above her. I take a moment just to stare, completely rapt. When my gaze lingers a bit too long for her impatient taste, she cranes her neck forward and finds my mouth.

 

“You still want to be mine?” she asks, her breath teasing at my lips.

 

“Yes,” I retort, my voice strangled and heavy with desire.

 

She lures me into another all-consuming kiss, pulling me back down with her as she sprawls out upon the mattress, my body pressing into her. I don’t even notice my shift this time until I feel her tongue teasing at my canines again and I shudder.

 

“Show me.”

 

With her permission, the beast growls in delight. I pin one of her knees to the mattress so that my fingers can enter the depths of her already dripping sex at a most advantageous angle and a moan rips through her chest the second she feels me inside of her. There isn’t any foreplay this time, no game of seduction to be had.

 

She’s already waiting for me and I, for her.

 

“Harder,” she expels, her hips pistoning forward to meet me thrust-for-thrust.

 

I push into her with more force this time, with a greater sense of purpose. Our encounters have not always been gentle, but I’ve never been overtly rough with her before. I’ve always been sure to hold back, to stop myself from truly hurting her. But here she is, calling out once more for me to take her more forcefully and as much as I want to satisfy her, I wonder how much of my appetite the tiny girl can actually take.

 

“More,” she whimpers, her back arched and stomach taut.

 

I clamp my eyes shut, hissing and quaking as my body is pulled in two opposing directions— her on one end and the beast on the other.

 

“You can’t—” I try to warn her, fingers stilling in her heat.

 

“I _can,”_ she insists.

 

I feel the tug of her nails down the smoothness of my back and I hiss again, my vigour renewed. The bed shakes and shrieks beneath us as I allow some of my demonic strength to seep through and claim us both. 

 

Surprisingly, she never falters.

 

She never withdraws or surrenders.

 

_“God!”_ she cries out, her hips still canting upward to meet me.

 

She pants loudly, the most exquisite and delicious array of sounds escaping from her lips. They only excite me even further and I expel a strangled moan, burying my face in the crook of her neck to quiet myself, almost embarrassed by how quickly my composure is slipping away from me.

 

That’s when I feel it.

 

The slam of her heart against my pursed lips, the tips of my fangs extending out from behind them to lightly scrape at the skin shielding her jugular. I taste the bite of salt from her sweat as it rolls down the column of flesh and my body goes rigid, my eyes glossing over completely from behind lids that burn with pressure. I break for a moment and she immediately catches me, reaches for me. Her hand slides into my hair, gripping the back of my skull firmly and holding me in position— anchoring herself to me, or me to her.

 

I can’t be sure anymore.

 

_“Bite me.”_

 

The words are spoken in a low whisper but they explode in my ears, setting me ablaze like an airborne Icarus; I feel the wax of my wings begin to melt away, begin to drip down my body and sear me before I’m falling too fast and too deep. They leave me shellshocked, unable to move or make sense of this strange, new wingless world I inhabit. But she arches her neck, offering herself to me.

 

“ _Please._ I want this. I want _you,”_ she whines. “So bad…”

 

And finally I hit the water, the rest of the world fading away as I’m surrounded by a quiet, calming warmth that embraces me fully like a tired, old friend. For some strange reason, I trust the certainty in her voice— trust in the strength of it. _Her strength._ I had expected this moment to be sharp and jarring, but as my fangs extend fully and I expand my mouth as wide as my jaws will allow, something so delicate bursts into bloom. 

 

Her skin gives way all too easily beneath the point of my fangs, as if it’s been expecting me all this time. I know by the sound that tears through her that she has been. I feel the heat of her gush into my mouth all at once like a great, red Nile and I suck— suck as hard as I can, lap away at all she has to offer me. 

 

My world explodes in colour.

 

I feel her everywhere— on my tongue, sliding down my throat, rolling down my chin, staining my face and sheets— _seeping into me._ I think she utters something in that moment, but even my keen senses are far too overwhelmed to decipher her words. I continue to gulp, allowing the taste of her to guide me to a place of permanence, a place where I feel the touch of the sun upon my skin and my insides spring to life.

 

A place where she’s a part of me forever now.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** A short chapter for you guys! I was going to add this into the next chapter, but I figured it works just as well on its own and I should probably post something to hold you guys over until the next chapter is finished. This one’s a flashback— we finally discover what Marion told Delphine when she went to see her. The next chapter should be up in a few days, so enjoy until then :)

**** “Did I ever tell you that I once found myself infatuated with a human?”

 

I look up, clearly alarmed by my old friend’s revelation. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised, but she’s never spoken a word about a human lover before, nor have I ever heard her discuss any sort of significant relationship with another aside from the daughter she once had in her human life. Marion merely laughs at my surprise, shrugging it off before continuing with her story.

 

“His name was Vincent. He was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen.”

 

Her brow is furrowed, gaze deep and far away as she speaks, as if she’s instantly transported back into this “Vincent’s” arms, to a time where her stoney, cutthroat demeanour didn’t exist yet. I can’t say I’ve ever seen my friend so engrossed in a single memory before and I sit up straighter in my armchair, my attention completely seized.

 

“As I’m sure you already know, it was difficult in the beginning,” she recounts. “Just standing next to him would be enough to incite me.”

 

My mind harkens back to Cosima, to the feelings Marion is describing that I know so well. I close my eyes for a brief instant and I see her smiling behind my lids. Even the mere image of her is strong enough rouse my body’s memory; my nostril flare and I swear I can smell her sweetness wafting through the air. 

 

When I open my eyes again, Marion’s gazing at me knowingly and I know I’ve been caught, that I’m in much more trouble than even I care to admit.

 

“What did you do?” I ask her earnestly. “How did you fight it?”

 

A smile appears upon her face.

 

“Oh, I didn’t.”

 

I freeze.

 

The reality of her words sink in. 

 

“I… informed Vincent of my situation. We came to a mutual understanding.”

 

We lock eyes, her orbs flickering with her intent. 

 

“You fed from him.”

 

I fill in the blank and her smile stretches even further across her face. She briefly licks her lips before taking a sip of wine, as if she can taste this Vincent’s blood upon them.

 

“Oh yes,” she speaks, her eyes meeting mine from over the rim of her glass. “It was… a rather enjoyable experience for the both of us.”

 

I frown, squirming in my chair as I imagine Cosima— I imagine my fangs sinking into her softness, the flood of red pouring into my mouth and beckoning such long forgotten parts of me back to life. A shiver rolls up my spine as I actually feel the warmth in bones. And then I see her face, pale and void of life as she’s slumped beneath my weight. 

 

I shake the image from my head.

 

“I won’t feed from Cosima,” I stubbornly insist. _“I won’t.”_

 

Marion cocks her head, intrigued by my refusal. 

 

“Why not? Because you’re afraid you won’t be able to stop?” she counters.

 

She sets her glass of wine down atop the bar and begins to step closer, approaching me slowly with all the gait of a cat.

 

“What if she understands? If she cares for you, then wouldn’t she want to help you?”

 

My hands ball into fists, my jaw clenches in silent anger. She leans against the arm of the chair I’m currently occupying, staring down at me with an unnameable expression. She can read the conflict in my features and even though her words are meant to soothe, to guide me through my trouble, I find they have the opposite affect.

 

“What if she wanted you to— if she offered herself to you?” Marion presses. “Would you do it then?”

 

A low growl escapes me and I rise very suddenly, catching the older woman off guard.

 

“Stop it!”

 

I stalk away from her, determined to escape her goading. I wonder if she really wants to help me at all or if she’s simply grown bored and longs to see me suffer. I make it all the way to the doorway until she’s in front of me again and barring my path, her speed even greater than mine. Her eyes are dark and I can tell from her expression that this isn’t a joke to her at all, that she’s painfully serious.

 

“That hunger you feel? Well, when you have someone who’s so willing to give, the need to take slowly fades away. It becomes manageable,” she says, her tone deep as she leans in closer, face inches from my own. “There’s no longer such a massive void within you that cries out to be filled.”

 

My body freezes as I’m left hanging on her every word. Is it possible that she’s telling the truth? That my hunger for Cosima _can_ be managed if I only succumb to it, if I allow her to offer herself to me? It seems almost too convenient, but then who would know better than Marion? 

 

“Vincent knew what I was,” she continues. “He allowed me to feed from him not only because he knew I required the sustenance, but because he knew it was one more way for us to become closer— for us to become a part of each other.”

 

I find myself completely entranced by her reasoning. She lifts a slender hand and guides it to my head, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before softly caressing the side of my face in a loving, almost maternal manner.

 

“Oh, that glorious place— where two different creatures become one,” she muses with a dreamy sigh accompanied by a tender smile. “What can be so wrong about that, Delphine? Belonging to one another?”

 

There’s nothing wrong at all with the state Marion is describing. The only thing that’s wrong is my uncertainty over whether or not I can actually trust her words. Even if she is telling the truth, if feeding from her lover brought them closer, who’s to say it will work the same way with Cosima? Who’s to say I won’t still kill her by accident, swept up in the taste of her blood? I may be a selfish creature, but I’m not so selfish to risk my beloved human’s life.

 

“I should go now,” I say quietly, pulling away from my former mentor and finally brushing by her on my way towards the exit.

 

I walk down the long, grand hall with my head hung low and lost in though. Sure, Marion has offered me a way forward, but is it truly the path I want to take? Will it lead me to that place she promised?

 

“Many years ago, you once shared with me that you’d like your soul back.”

 

Her voice rings out and carries down the elongated hall to reach my ears. I stop dead in my tracks, her words summoning me back to a different time. I’d almost forgotten all about that foolish desire I once harboured.

  
“I wonder… was that just a moment of weakness, or do you still feel the same now?”

 

I turn around to find her standing in the doorway of her study, leaning against the frame.

 

I simply shrug.

 

“What does it matter?”

 

She stands straighter, catching my gaze even at a distance.

 

“Because there _is_ a way,” she insists. “I’ve just given it to you.”


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** What’s this? Two updates in two days!? I guess being sick has its advantages :P Just a heads up, this chapter gets a little violent so trigger warning for blood, gore, all of that icky stuff. And also, please don’t hate me too much. This isn’t TUW, I swear, but there has to be a few rough patches, huh? I gotta keep things interesting. Enjoy! :)

“So… what did you think?”

 

She beams up at me with an overly enthusiastic gaze, wrapping herself around my arm as we exit the cinema along with dozens of other movie-goers. We all flood out into the darkened streets, the lights from the buildings and street lamps shining the way. I rarely go to cinema— in fact, I can count the number of times I’ve been on a single hand, but Cosima had insisted on taking me to a late-night screening of one of her favourite films and as usual, I found myself bending to her will.

 

“It was… entertaining,” I say, finding the right word to settle on.

 

I can’t say it really appeals to my tastes, but I understand why Cosima is so fond of the space opera; such a grand fantasy would undoubtedly appeal to her vast imagination.

 

“It’s “entertaining?” What, that’s it?” she throws back at me, as if my assessment has personally offended her.

 

“I-I’m not really a fan of the cinema. You know this,” I backpedal.

 

She muffles her giggle at my use of the word “cinema” and shakes her head, tugging on my arm a little harder until we both stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The flow of people parts and they all move around us like water travelling downstream, impervious to the minor inconvenience that we pose.

 

“Yeah, but Star Wars is, like… _classic,_ ” she tries to argue. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. You’re old enough to remember when it actually came out in theatres. ”

 

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. 

 

“I am,” I agree. “I also remember when bloodletting was practiced as a form of medicine, and when men burned women for being suspected witches.”

 

I’ve lived through many great and terrible and wonderful and ridiculous phenomena— though it doesn’t mean I actively participated in every single one of them, as I try to point out to my young lover. 

 

“And were they?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Witches?” she clarifies. “Were the women they burned actually witches? Were there even any witches at all?”

 

I laugh, tugging her gently so the two of us can start moving again.

 

“Of course not. That’s ridiculous,” I answer.

 

“Oh, because being a centuries-old creature of the night who feeds on human blood isn’t?” she counters.

 

I laugh again.

 

“Yes, but my kind doesn’t utilize magic. There’s a scientific explanation as to how we exist— same with lycanthropes,” I explain. “The idea of a human or any creature using magic to do their bidding is absurd.”

 

She comes to a full-stop once more, pulling me back towards her like an anchor when I try to cross the intersection before the green light fades. 

 

“Wait a second— lycanthropes? Like _werewolves_?”

 

I shrug.

 

“What the fuck, Delphine? Are there _werewolves_ , too?”

 

I laugh, gesturing for her to continue walking with me. We cross to the other side of the street and reach the entryway of a large park I’ve ventured through many times before. I figure a brief walk through the woods or gardens while we’re illuminated by park lamps will be a perfect way to draw our date to it’s conclusion.

 

“Relax,” I tell her, leading her through the gate. “Their numbers are so few at this point that they’re hardly an issue.”

 

She grumbles beneath her breath, both surprised and slightly irritated by my revelation. I find it impossible to suppress my amusement, especially with the way her lips pout and brow scrunches. I use my superior speed to grab hold of her quickly, twirling her in my arms until my hands settle upon her hips. It takes her a moment to adjust but once she does, she offers me a large smile.

 

“Besides,” I speak lowly, my fingers tracing patterns along her hipbone as I lean in closer. “I’d never let one bite you.”

 

She cocks her head.

 

“Guess you already planted your flag in that soil, huh?” she teases, kissing me slowly.

 

Her kiss is just a whisper, meant to tease me before she’s retreating again and journeying down a dirt path into a more isolated area of the park where the taller trees and other flora will grant us greater privacy from any potential onlookers.

 

“You know, you really gotta watch the entire trilogy together,” she says, hand in mine as we tread deeper into the park. “A New Hope is good, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Empire.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

 

“You don’t have to,” she retorts, grinning up at me. “Empire’s screening next Saturday and you’re coming with me.”

 

She wriggles her eyebrows, attempting to persuade me though the gesture is hardly necessary. When have I ever been able to turn her down? If she asked for the sun, body be damned, I’d find a way to pluck it from the sky and hand it to her with charred hands, collapsing into a pile of ash only after I’m certain she’s satisfied.

 

“Well, if you demand it…”

 

“I do,” she winks, slinking away from me again.

 

Her hips sway from side-to-side and my eyes follow her the entire way down the path, through the increasingly thick patch of trees. When she stops again and turns around to face me, extending a hand in my direction, I realize that she expects me to follow her, not to stand andleer like a fool.

 

“Come here.”

 

I’m in her face quicker than she can blink and her smile only grows is both size and mass. She wraps her arms around my neck, drawing herself in even closer and pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek.

 

“You gonna take me home?”

 

I detect a hint of playful seduction in her voice and I caress her chin, tilting her head to the side very gently.

 

“Would you like that?” I ask her.

 

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

 

My eyes fall upon her neck, upon the two, tiny scars that’ve taken up permanent residence upon her flesh. From the moment I first tasted her, I knew I’d never drink from another again. Even still, I’ve had to be careful with her these past few months, careful not to take too much and to give her ample time to recover lest I drain her completely. That first time I had taken a bit too much and the blood loss mixed with the sensory overload had caused her to lose consciousness very briefly. It had left her weak and exhausted for nearly a week, but it had sated me long enough that I could afford to wait until she was ready to take me again; her youth, general good health and diet mean that she’s able to easily and efficiently produce new blood cells so the wait is never too excruciating, but feeding from her is something that I still regard as a luxury and never a right— a delicacy to be enjoyed only on certain occasions.

 

I hum, my fingers lightly tracing the incisions. I learn forward and bring my lips to the scars, kissing her softly.

 

“ _Maybe_ I’ll even let you…”

 

She doesn’t bother finishing her train of thought because we both know exactly what she’s implying. It’s been twenty-three days since I’ve fed from her and the very thought of her blood against my tongue has me salivating, has my eyes growing darker and fangs growing pointed. She giggles at my anticipation, the vibrations racing through her throat and tickling my lips. All I can think of is getting her back to my apartment and beneath me as quickly as possible.

 

That is, until another scent suspicious appears out of nowhere.

 

My body freezes and I pull away from her neck, my head whipping around like a dog who’s caught scent of a morsel. 

 

“What?” she asks me.

 

I ignore her, taking a few steps away from her. My eyes scan the surrounding area, taking in the tall trees we’re completely surrounded by. I frown and focus my eyes, scanning the tops of the trees, searching the branches. 

 

“What is it?” she asks again.

 

“Quiet,” I hush her.

 

I take another deep whiff and I know I’m not mistaken. _I know that scent._ They’re in here somewhere, watching us from the shadows just as I’ve stalked many others before. Cosima remains as silent as a corpse, her face a contortion of fear and concern as I remain diligent, hyperaware of our surroundings.

 

“Okay. Seriously. You’re freaking me—”

 

I whip around, catching the flash of movement as it hurls from the trees towards Cosima. Instinct takes over, my fangs unsheathe themselves and I let out a loud, menacing growl as I move even faster, heading it off before it can reach her. I lash out, striking it hard and sending it flying into the trunk of a large tree with a loud crack.

 

“Jesus!” she shouts, her hands over her ears. “What the fuck _is_ that?”

 

It doesn’t take our assailant long to recover and he’s on his feet again, his own fangs unsheathed as he hisses and growls, squaring off with me. I make sure to keep myself between him and Cosima, the look of murder in his eyes reflected right back at him in my own.

 

_This one dies._

 

He lashes out towards me but again, I’m much faster and I side-step his blow. I deliver another crushing shot to his head and he’s sent reeling right back, slamming into the tree once more and splitting it partially. Before he has time to find his feet again, I’m on him with a hand around his throat, lifting him in the air and snarling like a vicious lioness.

 

“B-Bitch!” he spits through gritted teeth, completely immobilized by my hold.

 

Not wasting another minute, I thrust my balled fist into his abdomen with all of my strength, easily punching through him. I feel the wet slosh and squish of blood and innards and grab hold of a handful and pull, ripping his bowels from his body with a satisfied hiss. He screams out and thrashes in pain, the wound severe though not enough to kill one of us. They continue to spill out of him and throw him to the ground like a rag doll, grabbing one of his arms at the wrist and tearing it clean off of him in another bout of fury. In the background, Cosima screams in horror, though it doesn’t register until I have both of the cretin’s arms in my hands.

 

_“Delphine! Delphine, please! Please stop!”_

 

The once quiet, serene patch of woods is now filled with the sounds of pain and terror, two voices screaming out in the dark and splitting my attention. I tilt my head to the side so that I can spy a glimpse of Cosima behind me and I notice that she’s trembling in place, tears streaming from her wide and vulnerable eyes. I realize now that I’ve become so consumed in my pure and utter contempt for this creature who threatened her that I forgot she was even present, watching every ounce of horror and pain I inflict upon him.

 

He tries to squirm away, head to the ground as he slowly crawls towards the bushes but I stop him with a foot to his back, forcing him back down on the ground. He groans in agony once again, but I end his suffering rather quickly by bringing my foot down upon his skull and crushing it in one, swift movement. The second he leaves this realm, what’s left of his body is reduced to ashes and I stare down at the pile, my fangs still bared and my eyes still darker than the depths of hell from whence I came.

 

“You’re safe now,” I say, kicking away at the pile of ashes until it becomes mixed in with the dirt. “He can’t hurt you.”

 

I take a moment to catch myself, to allow the bloodlust to settle before I approach her again. Once I’m certain that I have myself under control, I walk back towards her with my human face, all signs of my previous ferocity completely gone.

 

“Y-You… you just… _ripped him apart,”_ she stammers, clearly traumatized by my viciousness.

 

“Don’t shed any tears for him, _mon amour,”_ I say softly, offering her a smile. _“_ He isn’t worth them.”

 

I step even closer, reaching out for her. She recoils as if burned, as if she’s found herself face-to-face with something deep and terrifying and I suppose, in a way, she has; she may have seen me feed from blood bags before, she may have even offered her own neck to me, but she’s never seen the true nature of the beast— the beast in motion, switched into kill mode and thriving, wallowing in the bloodlust.

 

“You… you’re covered in…”

 

I look down at myself and realize that I am, in fact, covered in that cretin’s blood; it drips in deep bursts of crimson from the hand I used to disembowel him, it mars the front of my blouse like a Pollock painting. 

 

“We should get inside,” I tell her.

 

Even though there aren’t any others around at the moment, we’re far too exposed for my liking. Someone could come wandering into the small patch of woods at any moment and stumble across my blood-soaked self, and even though I may have voided one threat, there’s no way to tell if the recently-deceased is part of a hunting pack that may be lingering nearby.

 

I can’t risk Cosima’s life like that.

 

I manage to coerce her back to my apartment which is the closer of the two, though she moves as if she’s walking in a haze, as if her eyes cut backwards through time and replay the entire scene in her mind. Once we’re indoors, I quickly check her over to make sure she isn’t hurt— I was quick to jump to her defence, but I can’t be sure if she sustained any minor injuries in all of the chaos. I’m satisfied to learn that she remains unharmed and after changing her clothes and tucking her securely in my bed, I duck away into the shower to wash the filth from me.

 

I emerge again from the steam-filled bathroom nearly an hour later and I expect her to be sleeping. I’m surprised to find her sitting up in my bed, eyes still as distant as before. I towel my hair dry, watching her closely before asking her if she’s okay once more.

 

“Why did he attack me?”

 

Her question comes as a surprise to me.

 

“Well, we’re very territorial creatures,” I try to explain. “I thought I’d been careful in coming here, but it appears there are others after all. Now that you’ve been marked, they probably smelled me on you and assumed that another was encroaching.”

 

It was the only explanation that seemed to make sense. You see, humans who’ve been marked by us give off a very distinct smell. It makes them easy to pick out in a crowd. The one who attacked us must have crossed paths with us at random, the scent catching his attention. He probably thought that butchering the both of us would send a message to any others potentially inhabiting the area and eliminate the competition. He certainly didn’t plan on encountering another who was far older and stronger than him.

 

“How many others are there?” she asks next.

 

“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “One less now.”

 

Aside from our recently-deceased assailant, I’ve yet to detect another of my kind in the many months since I’ve settled here. It’s possible that he may have just relocated, that he was acting alone, though my gut tells me that I must take to the streets and flush out any other possible enemies.

 

“I’ll figure everything out,” I promise her, tossing my towel into the laundry basket. “But until I do, I suggest not wandering alone after dark. You should stay here with me just to be safe.”

 

She hums, though I’m unsure whether or not to accept it as an agreement. Our assailant had been quite weak by our standards, which meant that he was fairly young. Fledglings have a tendency to live in covenants, which is why I know I must be diligent in uprooting this great, poisonous tree before its branches grow too high and vast and cast a large, looming shadow on the life I’ve created here with Cosima.

 

“So you were the only one where you lived before?”

 

Her question is random and I furrow my brow, toying with the tie of my bathrobe. 

 

“Yes. It was a small place. Not a large enough for peaceful cohabitation— not a large enough hunting ground for more than one to hunt comfortably.”

 

She finally finds her smile again, though it’s weak in comparison to the radiance I know she’s capable of.

 

“Yeah. I get the feeling,” she nods. “I’m from a small city, too. I don’t even think there were any… well… I never saw any… you know— any of your _friends._ ”

 

“Not my friends,” I correct her.

 

I take a moment to recall my former home— Cosima’s former home, as well. I missed Paris the first time I left and strangely enough, a part of me even missed Frankfurt when I’d made my great break. I’d sought refuge in our quiet town for many years until I met Cosima, though nothing of the place has truly resonated with me. 

 

“Where did you live, before you came here?” Cosima asks. “I just realized that I never asked. You’ve never told me before, either.”

 

I’m silent for a moment, considering.

 

“Nowhere special,” I tell her, my eyes falling.

 

“Yeah, but _where?”_ she presses. _“_ Somewhere close by? Somewhere warm or cold? You were still in the country, right? Was it somewhere—”

 

She comes to a complete halt and when I look up from my feet, realization flashes across her face.

 

“What is it?” I ask.

 

She seems rattled again and I can hear her heart rate increase from where I’m standing. 

 

“Where did you come from?”

 

Her voice is low and quiet and I can tell by the look in her eyes, by the lump in her throat that _she knows_. Somehow, she _just knows._ Perhaps she can smell it on me like I can smell fear or anger or desire on her. 

 

“Cosima…”

 

She kicks off the bedsheets, rolling out of the bed in an instant. 

 

“Oh, God. I’m right, aren’t I?” she asks, hand over her mouth.

 

My knees buckle, I step closer to her but she uses the bed to keep us separate, seeking shelter from me on the other side.

 

“I-It’s not like that,” I stutter.

 

“Did you _follow_ me here?”

 

Her rage simmers beneath the surface, her gaze dangerous and penetrating as she glares at me from across the bedroom. I know that lying will do no good in this situation, that the best thing I can do now is own up to my behaviour and explain it to her in a way so she can understand it.

 

“Yes.”

 

She expels a loud, incredulous laugh while shaking her head.  


“And how long had you been… _watching me?”_ she spits.

 

“Cosima, please—”

 

_“How. Long?”_

 

I sigh, running a hand through my damp hair.

 

“Months,” I confess. “A few… or more. Almost a year.”

 

“You were _stalking me_ for almost a year before I met you?” she shouts.

 

“It wasn’t like that!” I shout back at her with pleading eyes. “I just liked to watch you, that’s all! It made me feel… _happy_.”

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

She loops around the side of the bed towards me and I reach for her, only to have her side-step my grasp. My eyes follow her as she gathers her clothing from across the room and my body grows heavy.

 

“So much is starting to make sense now,” she mutters beneath her breath. “That night— when the tree in my backyard came down and smashed the patio… that was you, wasn’t it?”

 

She stops, looking up from what she’s doing and waiting for my answer.

 

“I… I was upset.”

 

Another roaring, incredulous laugh rips through her chest.

 

“You saw me with Emi. You were watching us— _in my bedroom!_ ”

 

“I didn’t mean to see it. I just liked to watch you work, or listen to your music—”

 

“Or sleep?”

 

“Sometimes,” I shrug, the word leaving my mouth before I have time to register that perhaps it isn’t the greatest choice of a word.

 

“Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters. “You really don’t see what’s wrong with this at all, do you?”

 

Once again, my brow furrows in confusion. I understand that Cosima is a fiercely independent person, though I’m unable to grasp the sense of betrayal she clearly feels at the moment. My watchful eye has never harmed her, has never caused her any misfortune and before she knew of it, had never tainted or affected our relationship at all. Wherever we currently are in our relationship is somewhere far beyond that point where we started and so I wonder what good dwelling on the past can really do?

 

“At the mixer, where we first met,” she begins, shedding the sleeping clothes I had given to her earlier. “You were there for _me_. You staged that, didn’t you?”

 

“I… not exactly,” I admit.

 

I watch her as she tosses my clothes aside and begins to redress in her own.

 

“I never actually planned on ever speaking to you. I didn’t think anything could come of it,” I say. “I was content to spend my nights just watching and living vicariously through you, but after we met… it didn’t feel like enough. I wanted _more_.”

 

My words don’t reach her in quite the way I had intended. In fact, as she finishes pulling her shirt down over her head, she looks at me as though I’m some sort of stranger, someone she can no longer trust. That look _shakes me_ and I feel myself begin to panic.

 

“I have to go.”

 

She turns away from me and I bolt.

 

“Cosima, please!” I cry, placing myself in her way. “Don’t be upset!”

 

“ _“Don’t be upset?”_ You just told me that you’ve been _stalking_ me this entire time! That _all of this_ was orchestrated by _you_!” she yells, that delicious vein in her neck rising. “God, Delphine! Do you have _any_ idea how _fucked up_ that is? How _psychotic_ you’ve been acting?”

 

“No! You’re wrong!” I argue, a growl escaping me. “I never hurt you, Cosima! I _never_ would!”

 

The very thought that she could regard me— regard _our relationship_ so lowly— has sparked my own anger. After everything we’ve meant to each other, everything I’ve done for her— after she _offered herself to me—_ how could she scoff in the face of that? How could she dismiss it as “fucked up,” as anything less than beautiful, and simply walk away? 

 

“I… I need to not be here,” she stammers, pushing her way by me. “I need you to not be around me.”

 

“But—”

 

I reach for her one last time but she yanks her arm away from me defiantly.

 

“Honestly, just _thinking_ about all of this is making me sick,” she tells me, her voice thick and eyes brimming with tears. “Everything you ever told me was a lie. From the very beginning, this was just some sort of fucked up game.”

 

“No! It never was!” I insist, grabbing at her again.

 

She struggles against my grip and while I know I should probably release her, I’m much too afraid to simply let her go, to let her walk out that door and watch her disappear. She thrashes in my arms, trying to tear herself from me and I despair, I hold her even tighter until she’s crying and whimpering like a struck dog.

 

“I love you! I always have!” I say desperately, hand cupping the side of her face and shaking her. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

 

“Oh, God.”

 

She clamps her eyes shut tightly and I smile, I try to convince her to open them again, to look me in the eyes and see the sincerity for herself. If she could only _see it_ , there’s no way she’ll leave. I coo and hush her, try to soothe her unsteady heart. 

 

When she opens her eyes again, I don’t see the understanding I’d been hoping for. Instead, I see what I can only describe as terror, as if I’m still covered in our assailant’s blood just seconds after dismantling him.

 

“Just let me go. _Please,”_ she begs, her voice breaking. _“_ I can’t even look at you right now.”

 

I feel myself become light-headed and I know this is foolish, that the biology aspect doesn’t make any sense. Light-headedness suggests a lack of blood flow to the brain, which would suggest a blood flow, which would suggest a beating heart— something I simply no longer possess. I wonder if it’s possible to die a second death, for an already-still heart to become somehow more static.

 

“I-I love you,” I try again.

 

Perhaps she’s right. 

 

Perhaps I truly _am_ mad for expecting a different response this time.

 

“How can you say that to me? _Right now?_ How can you— you know what? Nevermind.”

 

My grip on her weakens and she quickly seizes the opportunity, slipping out of my grasp. I nearly topple over without her body there to support me, but I somehow manage to find my feet after stumbling and just barely keep myself standing.

 

She sniffles, wiping away her tears.

 

“I know you do,” she says quietly, reaching behind her and blindly searching for the handle of the door. “But that’s _not it.”_

 

 


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** It’s back! This chapter is very background-heavy, which is why it took me so long to finish (well, that and a lack of time). There was a lot of ground to cover with Delphine’s history and I wanted to make sure to get it right. We’ll definitely be seeing a lot more of it, too. This chapter sorta marks a shift that I’m super excited about. Anyway, I’m off on vacation, so enjoy! :)

The second I see her walk through the front entrance into her apartment complex, a wave of relief washes over me. It’s been five days since I declared my love only to have her close the door on my face— five days without a single spoken or written word, without any sort of response whatsoever. While I would like to honour her request for space, I know that with others potentially lurking in the shadows that such a feat is impossible. I’ve taken to my old ways, to watching her from a distance and granting her the illusion of space while trying my best to wait patiently for her forgo her anger. Every moment spent watching— watching, but never touching— is yet another death sentence I must endure. 

 

The light flicks on, illuminating her window. I see her silhouette flutter around the tiny apartment before she draws the curtains closed, shutting out the rest of the world. I wonder if she senses me, if she knows I’m watching her and she’s purposely closing herself off, though I suppose the point is moot and so I abandon the nagging thought in back of my head; now that she’s in for the night I can continue my search for answers without having to worry about watching over her.

 

At least, that’s what I think until I turn to finally leave.

 

I begin down the narrow alleyway and stop dead in my tracks when I catch a whiff of a smell so familiar, it beckons my stomach to life once more, churning my atrophied innards. The cologne is as pungent as I remember and every muscle in my body is drawn taut, every nerve on edge. My fangs unsheathe themselves of their own volition and the growling that follows is deep and vengeful.

 

“Delphine.”

 

He speaks before I can actually locate him with my eyes, but he appears a second later with a look so smug that I find myself inclined to strike it from his face. 

 

And I would, if I could.

 

_Oh God, if I could…_

 

My snarling persists, my eyes dark and hooded. Even still, he isn’t deterred by my ferocity. His smile merely spreads as he extends a hand towards me.

 

“Come,” he beckons. “Let’s go someplace where we can have a proper conversation.”

 

I wonder how long he’s been watching me, how much he knows. Is he aware of Cosima? Have I just led him right to her? My angry fists begin to bleed at my sides, blood tricking down through the cracks in my fingers.

 

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

 

I have no intention of following him anywhere regardless of his pleasant demeanour. After all, I know him _much better_ than that and I won’t be fool enough to become ensnared in his charm, to be lulled into a false sense of security by his glimmering smile.

 

“You mean, how did I find you?” he rephrases my question.

 

His assumption is correct and it only fuels the rage that’s boiling within me. Perhaps I’ve been careless or just plain naive— I’ve avoided his attention for so long now, I actually believed that he’d given up his pursuit and moved beyond me. 

 

“I recently spoke to our old friend, Marion. She told me about your visit.”

 

Of course.

 

I can’t bring myself to be too angry with her because the move isn’t out of character; Marion may be my friend, but she’s also his. First and foremost, she’s her own. She’s always placed her own interests above anyone else’s and while I can understand this much, I’ve yet to grasp how her outing me works in her favour. 

 

Perhaps the game has changed.

 

“I have to say, I was surprised when she told me the reason you’d resurfaced after all these years was because of a human,” he begins, slowly stepping out of the darkness and closer towards me. “Tracking her down wasn’t too difficult a task.”

 

_So he does know about Cosima._

 

A pang of fear shoots through me, but I mask it well.

 

“What do you want, Aldous?” I seethe. “What is this about?”

 

He laughs, and it’s a sound so grating to my ears that it takes every scrap of control I have not to lunge towards his throat. 

 

“It’s funny. I thought that after all this time, seeing you again would incite a _rage in me_.”

 

There’s a danger in his voice and I brace myself for impact, for the situation to take a southern plummet. He takes one final step, boldly entering my personal space and while his eyes are as cold and dead and ruthless as ever, his smile is wide.

 

“It’s quite the opposite, really,” he chuckles once more, completing his thought. “I’m happy to see you.”

 

I stand tall, my chin held high and my glare unwavering so he knows just how serious I am, how unwelcome he is in my life. 

 

_“What— do— you— want?”_ I ask again.

 

His laughter subsides, his eyes narrow as he drinks in my expression, his lips a thin, pale line.

 

“Ah. I see you’re still unhappy with me, though. That’s unfortunate.”

 

Slowly, he begins to circle me. His eyes never leave my body as I stand at the epicentre, turbulent waves of emotion radiating off of me. I’m not sure exactly when and where my anger blends with fear or if this foreign feeling even has a name, but I do my best to stand tall, to give him nothing. Even still, I’m certain that he’s very much aware of the affect his presence has on me.

 

“I would have thought that after all this time and distance you would’ve come to your senses,” he says, now behind me. “Apparently not.”

 

“I’m not interested in breaking bread with you, Aldous,” I snap, turning my head slightly to the side so that he can hear my voice unobstructed.

 

He circles back around until he’s standing in front of me once more.

 

“Be that as it may, you and I have much to discuss.”

 

“Then _speak!_ ”

 

My voice pierces the evening’s deceptive tranquility, ringing out through the vast, empty void my world has become in Cosima’s absence. His eyebrows slowly rise and even though he dares not utter the words this time, I can already hear them in my head, playing on a loop like some broken record I’ve heard too many times before, that I’d _almost_ escaped.

 

_Temper, temper._

 

“I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow… _serendipitous—_ us meeting again like this.”

 

He’s smiling again— _taunting me—_ and I continue to glare back at him through dark, narrow slits. 

 

“You and I both know you don’t believe in accidents,” I retort, the tips of my fangs protruding out from behind my upper lip.

 

“No. I don’t.”

 

He smooths his hands down the front of his (undoubtedly pressed) suit, picking at invisible fibres in his jacket while his smile dissolves completely. Straightening his tie, he lifts his eyes to meet mine again and I can tell that the pleasantries are finally over.

 

“Things at DYAD have been pushing ahead rather steadily,” he says. “We’ve already come so far since you left. I think you’d be surprised at just how far we’ve progressed.”

 

“How nice for you,” I sneer.

 

I’m aware at how immature my anger may seem, like a vindictive and rebellious adolescent in the face of the one, great authority in my life. There was a time when my entire life consisted of us— of _him_. I can’t say I was ever truly willing, but he’d _been there._ At my gruesome end, my new beginning— he’d been there. Through the bloodlust and feral fangs, through years that turned to decades, decades that bled into centuries— he’d been there. 

 

He never truly left, either. 

 

I’d been the one to go. 

 

“You know, there’s a place for you at my side. There always has been.”

 

His words are tender, but there’s no real softness behind them at all. There never has been, I’ve come to learn. He is a man who, even in his human life, most likely never knew the warmth of love; he’s never understood the rawness of it, how another person can cut you open and either bury themselves inside or hollow you out completely. _No._ He was hollow long before we met, the only force in this world sustaining him being the love he has for himself while he dismisses all else as distraction. 

 

I give him a once-over, my eyes slowly dragging from his feet to his eyes, then repeating the motion.

 

I’d feel sorry for him if I didn’t know better.

 

“I’m not interested.”

 

With that I turn my back on him and continue on my way.

 

“Come now, Delphine. We’re making _history!”_ he proclaims, flashing around in front of me to bar my path before I have time to evade him. “It’s what we always _dreamed_ about!”

 

“It’s what _you_ always dreamed about,” I correct him. “I never quite shared your desires.”

 

His lips upturn into the faintest of smiles.

 

“That’s not entirely true,” he argues. “I remember a time when your ambition rivalled even my own. It was one of the many things which drew me to you.”

 

If my glare was piercing before, it takes on a surgical precision now.

 

“That was a lifetime ago— before I realized what you really were,” I retort, my voice dripping with venom.

 

He steps closer towards me, so much so that I find myself unnerved by his proximity, by the intensity in his usually dead eyes.

 

“I never lied to you,” he says. “I’ve made sacrifices in the name of progress, yes. You of all people should understand how necessary sacrifices are.”

 

I swallow down my uneasiness, my nostrils flaring as I turn the tables and force myself into his space this time. He seems caught off guard by my brazenness as I bring my face dangerously close to his, sneering.

 

“You may need to think of yourself as a messiah, as some sort of brilliant mind who’s set to save the world from itself, but I know the truth. I know what you are and I will _never_ see that man in you,” I spit, my voice so low it sounds independent of me. “I’ll have no part in whatever game you’re playing.” 

 

I try to turn away again, to distance myself from him, but his hand on my arm keeps me anchored and I hiss at the contact. I tug harshly, but his grip is firm— firmer than mine. 

 

“You must have a short memory. You’re hardly the saint you seem to think you are,” he bristles. “Or perhaps you think that girl will make you a better person?”

 

I feel his grip waver for a split second and I take the opportunity to pull myself away from him, bracing myself for the oncoming assault. He doesn't lunge at me, though— doesn’t try to pull me back in. He stands completely still as if he were set in stone, his eyes blacker than any abyss I’ve ever known.

 

“You’re forgetting one, crucial fact,” he tells me. “We aren’t people, Delphine. Not even close.”

 

“I know exactly what I am,” I throw back at him. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

 

“Really? I’d beg to differ.”

 

He’s moving again, still faster than my eyes can detect. He grabs my chin roughly and forces me backward until I feel my back slam against the brick wall, a muted grunt escaping from my lips upon impact.

 

“Here you are, playing house with this human— _domesticated._ ”

 

Despite his displayed aggression, I realize now that if he had planned to come here to kill me, he would have done so already. I allow this knowledge to give me strength, to push back against him in a way I’ve never done before.

 

“Now _you’re_ the one with the failing memory,” I say, my words rigid as his grip on my jaw remains tight. “Was it not you and the other elders who preached cohabitation?”

 

When I was younger, I’d thought it was a foolish idea to live amongst humans. Once I learned to control my urges, I could see the advantage that Marion, Aldous and the others had mentioned; it allowed us to move around more freely, more safely. According to them, our survival was dependent on how well we could blend in.

 

“Yes, but that was _before.”_

 

His words— his tone— capture my interest. 

 

“Before?”

 

He releases me, his anger seeping from him like warmth from a freshly dead body until he’s cold and callous once more. _Before what?_ I’ve been isolated and out of the game for so long, I wonder just how much the rules have changed in my absence.

 

“I told you things were progressing quickly at DYAD,” he reiterates, his smugness returning. “Very soon, we’ll no longer have to play these foolish games in the dark. We’ll be able to step into the sun— we’ll own the world again.”

 

He’s always been a megalomaniac, full of big words and even bigger dreams. I’d laugh in his face if I was certain it wouldn’t goad him and escalate the situation. I must remember that he knows about Cosima now, that he may be the one thing I _can’t_ protect her from; with age comes strength and he has double my years on his side.

 

I regard him with a careful curiosity, though I say nothing. 

 

“If you won’t do it for me and you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for _her.”_

 

His words strike me.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

With my full attention in the palm of his hands, with my love at his mercy, he smiles.

 

“You love this human, that much is clear. You’ve gone to great lengths to keep her safe,” he says.

 

“She has _nothing_ to do with this,” I say harshly, my eyes pointed daggers.

 

“She has _everything_ to do with this.”

 

We standoff, staring each other down with the fury of our very separate, very different convictions fuelling us. Gazing into his eyes once more, I come to a stark realization which strikes an icy fear in me.

 

“The one who attacked us— he was one of yours,” I whisper.

 

_Of course_ he was one of his. Aldous showing up now so soon after the attack is no coincidence; he is as calculating as he is cold and I know this is all part of some much grander scheme that I haven’t been able to piece together just yet.

 

He shrugs.

 

“He was young and foolish, but he served his purpose.”

 

“And what purpose is that?” I press.

 

“Well, he made your stance on _slaying kin_ quite clear.”

 

Despite being almost painfully pragmatic, he always regarded our life as something almost sacred, contradicting the strict sense of logic he always claimed to abide by.

 

“He came at her—”

 

“A human,” he cuts me off. “Her life is hardly worth one of ours.”

 

“Her life is worth _a thousand_ of ours!”

 

My outburst displeases him and he lunges forward again, though this time he doesn’t strike. It’s an act meant to make me recoil in fear rather than pain and my body instinctively flinches before I have time to process this fact.

 

“We’re in the middle of a population crisis and here you are, slaying our own,” he chides. “Not only that, but you _refuse_ to procreate— same, stubborn excuse as always, I presume?”

 

It’s true. 

 

Our numbers are fewer now than ever before, though I hardly care. Centuries ago, it had been feuding with the lycanthropes that was the primary source of our declining numbers; once we’d brought them to the brink of extinction and extinguished their threat, we’d turned on each other and began clashing for power, slowly wiping each other out and with the rate of reproduction at a virtual standstill, it seems we’re destined to go the way of the dogs. 

 

There are a few among us who understand this vicious cycle— few of us who band together in covens for protection from other groups or individuals, to work together towards a common goal. Marion and Aldous had been prominent figures in my coven so many years ago. Our goal? To “save our species.” With brilliant minds and the proper resources at our disposal, we’d be able to accomplish more than any before us. With the advent of DYAD in the twentieth century, we’d had the perfect front— the perfect tool— to do so.

 

“I owe you no explanation.”

 

He sighs, clearly exhausted and perplexed by my unruly behaviour.

 

“If she’s as brilliant as you seem to think, why not turn her?” he suggests. “We need more like her among us. It’s so hard to find worthy progenies these days— even harder than it was back in your day.”

 

_“Off— the— table,”_ I fume.

 

He laughs.

 

“Why not? You could have her forever, Delphine. Why throw that away?” he asks, his lame and classic attempt at seducing me. “Why reject the prospect of eternity? Do you really think you’ll be able to live with yourself if you stand there and watch her slowly wither away? Do you think you’ll come back from that?” 

 

He’s as right as he is wrong.

 

It nauseates me.

 

“If you’re really so against turning her then I suppose you could focus on spending all your days making her happy before she expires, like Marion and her last pet.”

 

Vincent. 

 

At least Marion seems to understand the depth of my love for Cosima. She’d been unable to bring herself to turn her lover, as well. She knew what I know, what Aldous fails to understand— if I turned my love, she’d no longer be my love at all. I wouldn’t be prolonging our flame, only extinguishing it.

 

“Of course, this will be hard to do when you’re bound to the night as we are,” he adds. “That’s all you have to offer her like this, Delphine— a half life. Is that really fair to her?”

 

“This conversation is over,” I announce, my voice sturdy. “ _Adieu_ , Aldous.”

 

This time when I turn to leave, he doesn’t stop me— at least not physically. He doesn’t place himself in my way. Instead he calls out to me, hoping to have the last word, hoping that his words will reach me.

 

“Come back to me— to DYAD. We’re _so close,_ Delphine!” 

 

I walk away and leave him the alley, my face a rigid mask that does nothing to betray the chaos behind my eyes. 

 

“I could _give_ you the sun! You’d be able to build a proper life with her!” he tries again. “Isn’t that what you want?”

 

_Isn’t that what I want?_

 

The question rolls around inside my head like a penny in a pipe, rattling loudly, scraping all my edges and making its presence known. 

 

_Of course it’s what I want._

 

More than anything. 

 

I long to be there on her graduation day, to spend summers on the beach with her tangled in each other, to perhaps one day solidify our love in vows beneath the light. I long to show her the world— all of it, from every angle— not just my very short and stunted one.

 

I want.

 

I ache. 

 

_I pray._

 

Just not to him.


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** She giveth-- and she taketh  >:) But seriously, thanks for the continued support and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Much love.

_His_ appearance changes everything.

 

Any thought of time and space is abandoned, any thought of patience on my part or stubbornness on hers. I know I can’t afford to wait for her to come around on her own anymore, not with the very real threat of Aldous looming. Even though he’s made no formal threat against her, I know him well enough to know that such a thing isn’t necessary— that as much as he enjoys the sound of his own voice, he’s still a man of action.

 

I wait at the entrance of her apartment complex, running ahead of her in an undetectable blur just seconds before she arrives. I hadn’t noticed any sign of Aldous while I was shadowing her, but it’s still relatively early and I know that can change. I’m desperate to get inside with her where I know we’ll both be safe.

 

When she notices me, her expression immediately shifts to a mixture of surprise and anger and she comes to a dead halt, staring me down. As I always do when she’s upset with me, I attempt to make myself seem as small and non-threatening as possible, to demonstrate my submissiveness; I bow my head, waiting for her to approach me after a moment of consideration of her part.

 

“Why are you here?” she asks, clearly exasperated by my presence.

 

I look up, meeting her with pleading eyes.

 

“Please,” I say, my voice so small. “Can we just… talk?”

 

She folds her arms over her chest, expelling a long and heavy sigh. She shows no signs of budging or softening, no attempt to meet me halfway. 

 

“I can’t stand this, Cosima.”

 

I can’t control the waver in my voice, the way it nearly breaks as if drawn too taut. There’s a sharp intake of breath on her part, a subtle quiver of her lower lip that she tries so hard to will away. But I see it. I observe her with glossy eyes, watch as her stubbornness slowly melts away. She clears her throat, pushing by me to open the door.

 

“Come inside,” she whispers curtly.

 

I follow behind her like a faithful labrador, follow her into the elevator all without speaking or touching. We ride to her floor in silence, my eyes dancing between her profile and the floor while she stares straight ahead, pretending to be impervious. She leads me to her unit, sliding her key in the lock and pushing inside. I take a few steps deeper into the modest space, my eyes flitting around the apartment to see if anything’s changed in my presence; the atmosphere is different, the air heavier and tense, but aside from this, everything is the same.

 

“You look like shit.”

 

I whip around at the sound of her voice and watch as she locks the door behind her, leaning back against it. She still keeps a mindful distance even as her concern shines through.

 

“I’ve had better days,” I remark with a meek half-smile.

 

I know she’s right. My skin is a shade paler than normal and nearly translucent; my usual, vibrant curls now seem limp and dull, my eyes sunken. I’m not sure if my current state is a product of my starvation, Cosima’s absence, or Aldous’s sudden appearance. It’s most likely all three.

 

“You haven’t been feeding, have you?” she asks, head cocked.

 

I shake my head.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

She sighs again, her body deflating slightly. She’s too tired to argue, to call me out on my lie. Instead she pushes away from the door, brushing by me on her way to the cheap sofa on the other side of the room.

 

“You said you wanted to talk,” she shrugs, dropping into the sofa. “Let’s talk.”

 

I nod, swallowing my sudden hesitation. 

 

“I’m sorry— for everything,” I apologize. “I never meant to frighten you or make you feel… _I don’t know.”_

 

The sincerity in my voice reaches out to her, misting her eyes while she tries to rapidly blink the dampness away. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, folds and unfolds her hands in her lap and then settles for digging her nails into the couch for a second only to quickly release her grip. It’s as if she’s uncertain in her own body, in its reaction towards me. She doubts her feelings, doubts whether or not she can trust my apology. 

 

The truth is that it wasn’t until just yesterday when Aldous appeared that I realized how very right she’d been all along, how valid her anger is; I’ve done to her what he’d done to me and I realize now the path I’m walking— the one I’d so hastily fled from years ago in fear and resentment. The thought of doing the very same thing to her rattles me in such a way that I nearly drop to me knees before her, determined to make amends for my mistakes.

 

“Why?” she finally asks, her voice shaking. “Why did you… _why me?”_

 

Her words— words I’ve asked myself, asked Aldous on numerous occasions— haunt me. _Why me?_ I’ve always wondered what makes me so special in his eyes. I know it’s not love, so then _what?_ I shake away thoughts of my past momentarily to focus on her, to step closer.

 

“I didn’t mean for any of this. I certainly didn’t mean for it to happen like _this,”_ I tell her.

 

Aldous’s plan had been calculated. He’d waited patiently for the right moment to strike, knowing full well from the second he laid eyes on me what would become of us; he knew exactly what he wanted and where I fit into the grand scale of his ambition. But Cosima? I can’t claim the same level of foresight or discipline. I’d stubbled across her by pure chance and no matter how hard I’ve fought to control the situation, to reign in the chaos that’s encircled us, it’s always felt as though my efforts have been in vain— that we’re both being pulled by some unnameable force that has a vision entirely of it’s own. 

 

“I was out hunting one night when I saw you for the first time,” I admit.

 

There’s no sense in holding back now.

 

“You were going to _eat me?”_ she asks, clearly alarmed by my revelation.

 

“Not you,” I answer in almost a breath of laugher. “You were with another. He was my target— but then _you_ showed and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

 

She leans forward in her seat, fully engrossed.

 

“I nearly starved to death that night. I should have been out feeding but instead, I just had the urge to watch you,” I say.

 

“Why?” she asks again, all but begging for my answer.

 

“I don’t know why,” I whisper. _“I don’t know.”_

 

She stands very suddenly, my eyes following her the entire way as she makes her way over to the window, staring out at the street below without speaking.

 

“I just knew that… I wanted you. Not like _that_ , even,” I try to clarify. “I saw what you were and I wanted it for myself.”

 

She shakes her head, her back still turned.

 

“I don’t know what that means,” she utters, barely audible.

 

“Neither do I.”

 

She turns to face me, her face a contorted mess of mixed emotions. Her brow is hard and unforgiving, though the tremble in her lower lip contradicts its sternness as does the sheen in her eyes, providing only a glimpse of their untold depth.

 

“Look, I appreciate the apology and everything, but it doesn’t change what you did. I… I want you to see me as an equal, not some stupid kid you need to protect from everything,” she tells me, nearly choking on the words. “From the very beginning all you’ve ever seen me as is some sort of… I don’t know… _object.”_

 

“No!” I protest, stepping forward. “Not at all! You’re not an object to me.”

 

Her brow bends, the last bastion of her resistance crumbling before me. I step even closer, every instinct in my body screaming for me to reach out and gather her in my arms but her body stiffens at the gesture so I halt my advance, watching helplessly as she slowly unravels.

 

“Then why do you treat me like this?”

 

A few vagrant tears roll down her cheeks and I find my own lip quivering at the sight.

 

_“Oh, my love.”_

 

Unable to stop myself, I surge forward and find her face, cradling it delicately in my hands. She doesn’t pull away from me, doesn’t try to resist me at all. Instead she sinks into my touch, sobs wracking through her body while the heat from her tears burns my hands.

 

“You… you’re _everything,”_ I tell her. “You’re the _only_ thing— the only _one._ That’s all I’m sure of.”

 

I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers and closing my eyes. She does the same, sniffling, wrestling with her heaving chest for control. It takes her a moment to steady herself but when she does, I offer her the best smile I can muster.

 

“I’ve been unfair, but I’ll try,” I say. “I promise I’ll be better to you. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my days proving myself to you.”

 

Something deep inside of me screams for me to press my lips to hers, to soothe both of our aching hearts, but I ignore it. I ignore its wails and watch her intently, waiting for any sign of her expressed permission. I cannot force myself upon her now, here in all of her softness and vulnerability. 

 

“Geez,” she exhales, the corners up her lips upturning ever-so-slightly into a smile. “Why do you gotta go and do that— go all Byron on a girl?”

 

It’s the most glorious sight, seeing her smile and joke again. My entire body trembles and I laugh, wiping away the last of her tears with the pads of my thumbs, electricity shooting through me and jolting me back to life.

 

“Byron was a self-indulgent fool,” I say.

 

She arches a brow.

 

“Like you aren’t?”

 

My thumb traces the plump, red line of her lips as my tongue darts out to quickly swipe across my own.

 

“Perhaps you’re right.”

 

We kiss like the sun climbing over the horizon— calm, warm and certain. 

 

She whimpers into my mouth, threading her fingers through my hair and meeting my tongue with gentle strokes of her own that coax me out of the long night. My hands slide over the curve of her ass before finding the backs of her thighs, easily lifting her off the ground. She wraps her legs around my waist and I carry her to the bedroom, setting her upon the bed and unwrapping her with great care. Once I have her bare, soft hands disrobe me until we truly are equals beneath the dim glow of the bedside lamp that she fumbles to turn on, flustered by the trail of hot kisses I press to her stomach, chest, breasts. 

 

I take a nipple into my mouth and she groans, head tipping back as she succumbs to the sensation. She raises an arm to cover her face and I growl, biting down very gently and eliciting a sharp gasp. Her arm drops to her side and she meets my gaze again, her eyes deep and open. I take more of her breast into my mouth and suck greedily, urging her to spread her legs so I can settle more comfortably between them. When she does, I release her breast with a loud, smacking sound and prepare to sink lower, to take her warmth fully into my mouth. Before I can move down her body, a hand on my shoulder stops me.

 

“Wait,” she breathlessly exhales. “Come here.”

 

Curious, I glide back up until we’re face-to-face again and she pulls my mouth to hers like a dead star pulls in light, swallowing entire galaxies and yet never fully satisfied. When she finally pulls away to steal a laboured breath, my fangs unsheathe themselves and I watch her with eyes as black as hell, watch every pull of her chest as air floods her lungs. She looks up at me and caresses the side of my face before guiding me to her neck— her thrumming pulse.

 

“Drink,” she whispers, her voice husky.

 

No further incentive required, I plunge into her head first and feel her flesh give way beneath my pointed fangs. We moan in unison as I taste her vivid life flow freely into my mouth, sliding down my throat in bursts of red and filling me with heat and hope and home. I gulp steadily, taking just enough to renew my strength and quell my hunger; unlike the first time, I now know our limitations and I begrudgingly pull myself from her when I know we’ve reached the threshold.

 

_“Mon amour,”_ I purr.

 

I plant kisses up her neck, upon her cheek, painting her red with my desire. She kisses me without hesitation, the copper-tinged coupling of our lips never deterring her. She's never been more beautiful, I think— more beautiful than when she is beneath me, eyes hazy and lips upturned in a lazy smile, body weak but still humming, still ready to receive me. The paleness in her cheeks is nothing more than a backdrop, muted by stained lips which glow like a sun burning millions of lightyears away upon a field of fuzzy, black space dust.

 

I bury myself between her legs next, my thirst for heat not yet satisfied by her blood. Even when she’s writhing beneath me, even when she’s sighing and keening, rewarding me with her delicious sounds, I still want _more_. I wonder how much more there really is— has she not already given everything to me? Her body, her blood, her love? 

 

_Then what?_

 

As she comes undone beneath my skillful tongue, I realize that the “more” I envision isn’t something she can really give me.

 

_“I could give you the sun,”_ his words replay in my head. _“You’d be able to build a proper life with her that way.”_

 

A proper life.

 

To watch the sun shine through the window and land upon her naked back, bathing her in light as she sleeps soundly at my side; to be able to reach out and touch, to run my hand along her glowing skin and feel it pimple before she slowly stirs and wakes; to see her smile, lit up like the home I once new— like a home I now _know_ is right there in front of me, waiting for me to open the door and step inside.

 

_To see her illuminated completely._

 

I can’t shake this thought from my head, even as we glide against each other until we’re both exhausted, her from exertion and me from pondering answers to impossible questions. She curls up to my side, her breaths coming in tiny puffs that barely make a sound at all and I wish it were enough— _if only it could be enough._ I know the sun will rise again shortly, our reunion having sucked away the hours of the night; no matter how long it seems, morning always comes again and we find ourselves separate once more.

 

I slip out of her bed, gathering my clothes from the floor while trying to be as silent as possible out of fear of disturbing her sweet slumber. It isn’t until I’m pulling my pants up my legs that I hear her behind me.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

I turn around to see her watching me from the bed. Sheets cover her lower extremities while she pries one eye open and offers me a grin. I return it with one of my own, doing up the buttons of my shirt.

 

“The sun will be up soon,” I say. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be trapped in your bed all day again.”

 

She laughs.

 

“You say that like it’s a terrible thing.”

 

Forgetting about the buttons of my shirt for a moment, forgetting about the sun and its promises of doom, I approach her and lean down so that our foreheads are touching.

 

“To be in a bed without you in it _is_ a terrible thing.”

 

I steal a kiss, lightning fast, before I return to dressing.

 

“I’ll be back in the evening.”

 

It’s the only promise I can really make to her, it seems. 

 

It’s lacking in gravity, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Well, you know where to find me.”

 

And she’s right.

 

Even as I leave her apartment and my feet carry me back towards my own, I feel myself being pulled in the opposite direction. I shake off the urge and reach the safety of my apartment just moments before the sun rises, every trace of natural light completely blocked out until I’m left standing in the dark. 

 

In the dark, everything seems louder.

 

I hear the the ticking of a clock as I stand in my painfully bare living room. I hear the humming of the fridge where my leftover blood bags are stored. I close my eyes, the words of my (tor)mentor looping in my head, causing me to shake and seethe in my own skin.

 

_“I could give you the sun…”_

 

I cry out, lunging forward to silence the cursed fridge in a fit of fury. I tear off the door, throwing it across the apartment. It slams into one of the bookcases with a loud crash, the entire unit crumbling until all of my books are scattered across the living room amongst planks of broken wood. 

 

I pay no attention to the mess I’ve created, though. My eyes are fixed on the blood bags in the fridge. There are only six remaining and one by one I reach for them, tearing them open with a loud growl. Instead of drinking, I watch as the contents explode and drip out onto the floor and stain the tiles, creating an even bigger mess.

 

As I reach for the last one, a jolt shoots through me and I stop mid-reach, instead grabbing the fridge to support myself. The sweet, intoxicating scent of blood fills my nostrils, but it’s not from the stain on my kitchen floor. I instinctively lick my lips, knowing the scent so well that I can still taste it from earlier; it’s distant, but so strong that I’d be able to smell it from the other side of the planet.

 

“No…”

 

Panic runs through me like a stake through my chest and I find myself gasping for air I suddenly need.

 

_“No, no…”_

 

Without a second thought, I race into my bedroom and grab the comforter from my bed. I wrap myself in it as best I can, covering as much of myself as possible, and then I’m out the door— out, into the light again for the first time in centuries.

 

It seems I’ll see the sun again, after all.

 

I only pray I don't burn before I reach her.

 

 

 

 


	14. XIV

I whimper, my entire body engulfed in a searing pain.

 

The scent of my own charred flesh floods my nostrils and I push through it— push through the sound of my crackling skin as it blisters and melts away like wax from a candle. Even wrapped in the comforter I’d swiped from my bedroom and moving at top speed towards Cosima’s apartment, the sun’s rays are much too strong and unforgiving.

 

I traverse the rooftops to avoid being seen by the humans lurking below. There aren’t many out at this early hour, but even in my desperation, I know I cannot afford to take any risks. It’s somewhere just past the halfway mark when the flames ignite and I cry out loudly before biting down, my fangs sinking into my lower lip to stifle my screams. The pain is unimaginable and yet, I know it’s nothing compared to the pain that awaits me if I stop or slow.

 

Once her building is in sight, I shed the burning blanket and burst straight through the glass door to the other side, flying up multiple flights of the emergency stairs until I’m at her door which is left slightly ajar. Slipping inside, I slam the door behind me and immediately collapse, falling to the ground. It had taken every ounce of strength I possessed just to make it this far and now that I’m here, I feel my strength begin to leave me, I feel my vision begin to fade and my body grow far too heavy despite the pieces of me which blister and sizzle and slide off my bones.

 

_“C… Cosima…”_

 

I glance around the apartment, though I see no sign of her. I can still smell the blood mixed with the scent of seared flesh and that’s when I know she must be in the bedroom. I crawl, dragging myself along the floor at a snail’s pace in an effort to reach her. With each pull towards the bedroom, I chafe against the floor in such a way that my black and blistered body is battered even further, as if someone is rubbing shards of fine glass into my open wounds. My body quakes, a sob escaping as I fight to maintain consciousness. The only thing that tethers me to this realm is the sight of deep red that trails out from beneath the crack of the bedroom door. I push it open and am instantly bombarded by the vision of Cosima in a pile on the ground, motionless in a pool of her own blood.

 

_“Cosima!”_ I bellow, clawing at the floorboards in a desperate bid to draw myself closer to her.

 

My body is normally able to heal itself at an accelerated rate, but with the sheer amount of damage done, I know I’ll need blood to kickstart the process— blood that Cosima simply doesn’t have to spare.

 

I’m not frightened, though.

 

I’ll happily resign myself to my fate if it means I can pull her back from the edge.

 

Once I’m at her side, I roll her over onto her back so I can inspect the damage; all semblance of colour has completely left her body. I press my ear to her chest to listen for a heartbeat and it’s so faint, I’m barely able to catch it.

 

“Oh, no,” I whimper, clutching her to my body. _“No, no, no, no…”_

 

I cradle her closely, I beg her to open her eyes and say something— _anything—_ but she remains set in stone, as if perched atop some great cathedral, leaving me so far below.

 

“Please, just— _please!”_

 

Lifting up her shirt, I locate the source of the bleeding— a stab wound just beneath her left breast. Judging from her blood-stained lips and the trickle of red down her chin and neck, a punctured lung is the most likely culprit. The tiny breaths she’s still able to draw rattle around in her chest and I know that she’s drowning internally, that at this point, there isn’t much I can do for her. 

 

_I’ve arrived too late._

 

Once this reality sets in, the pain that radiates all through my body subsides. I feel myself become completely numb, unable to tear my eyes away from her nearly lifeless face; the last time I’d seen it, she’d blessed me with a smile and the knowledge that I’ll never see that smile again shakes my whole world— twists the walls and bends the floor until I’m trapped in some strange, spinning vortex that I know I’ll never escape. Even if I’m not long for this world, whatever eternity awaits me on the other side will be one I share without her.

 

_No._

 

I cannot bring myself to accept this.

 

I cannot bring myself to accept that I’ll never see her smile again, or feel her cuddled up close to me as we watch one of her strange science fiction films, or feel her pressed beneath me as I shower her with kisses and she rewards me with her warmth; I cannot bring myself to accept that she will be anything less than bright and bursting with life, that she will lay cold in the ground when she should be drinking in all this vast world has to offer her.

 

“Forgive me,” I beg her, my voice a strained whisper.

 

I unsheathe my fangs, tenderly caressing the side of her pale face.

 

_This isn’t the life that you deserve._

 

A life in the dark is no place for her kindness, no place for something quite so soft or luminous. The moon is a jealous creature— always wanting and taking, stealing light from the sun and tides from the shore. Without a doubt, it will take from her, as well. It will steal her shine and her movement, leaving her dull and fixed in a stretch of black; she’ll look up at it every single night and curse it with all of her newfound (and perfectly useless) strength before she learns to stop looking to the sky altogether.

 

_But a life in the dark is still a life— still a chance— still something._

 

I sink my fangs into her pale neck one last time and a few, eager gulps is all it takes until she runs completely dry. This isn’t about sating my hunger or healing my gruesome form— this is restitution. 

 

I give and take all at once.

 

When I pull myself from her neck, I draw my thumb into my mouth and prick the pad with the point of my fang, drawing blood. I bring my thumb to her silent lips, gently opening her mouth so that a few droplets can begin their descent, sliding down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. Once I’m satisfied that she’s had enough (with blood as old and potent as mine, a few drops is really all it should take), I stare down at her expressionless face and stroke it lovingly, bringing my lips to hers in the softest, coldest kiss we’ve ever shared.

 

_“Je t’aime,”_ I tell her, tucking her head beneath my chin.

 

I cannot be sure if I’m crying— if my eyes are wet with tears or if my vision is just blurry from the pain which hugs me in so many different ways. It doesn’t last for very long though, and as I sit on the floor cradling her, I feel my strength slowly return to me; my body is able to heal itself even with what little blood I was able to pull from her. As the minutes tick by like a deep, thick molasses, I can feel my wounds closing and skin regrowing. Once I’m strong enough, I lift her in my arms and bring her over to her bed, covers still disheveled from the night’s passion. I set her down in the center with an almost maternal love, making sure she’s tucked away comfortably before I maneuver around the apartment, ensuring that the windows are secured from the sun’s violence.

 

I wonder if she’s dreaming.

 

I can’t remember the process myself— if my mind continued spinning like an endless wheel even after my mortal life ended, or if I found myself trapped in a dark and dismal void as my soul was expelled. I don’t remember if I felt the pain, if I felt anything at all; I remember being alive one moment and then waking the next with a burning pain in my gut that spread through my bones, Aldous standing over me with a satisfied grin. 

 

I’m not sure how much time I have exactly as the process is different in every case, but I’m certain that it’s at least a few hours. While each moment spent waiting in this state of pointed anticipation chips away at me, I pray she won’t rise again until the sun is down and I can move her back to my apartment. In the meantime, I remove my barely-present clothes which were singed in the flames and step into the bathroom, turning the shower on so that I can wash away the blood. Not a minute into my shower, a loud knock at the front door stops me and I panic for a moment before I grab a towel and quickly dry myself off, checking the mirror to be certain that the shower’s spray has washed off Cosima’s blood. Wrapping myself in the towel, I trudge over to the door and open it just a sliver so I can see who’s standing on the other side.

 

“Is everything alright in here?”

 

I recognize the scruffy boy as the one from the elevator the very first time we kissed. He’d interrupted our moment before Cosima pulled me all the way to her apartment and I hadn’t given him a second thought since.

 

“Everything’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile to reassure him.

 

He scrunches his face, clearly unconvinced by my facade. He tries to glance past me to see deeper into Cosima’s apartment but I keep the opening just barely wide enough to accommodate my head, blocking his view.

 

“I thought I heard screaming,” he says. “And what’s that smell?”

 

I fabricate a fit of nervous laughter.

 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I… I started a small fire, but I was able to put it out.”

 

He nods slowly, still weary.

 

“Where’s Cosima?” he inquires.

 

“Shower,” I say, opening the door a tiny bit wider so that he can see the top of my towel. “We were just… um…”

 

“Oh,” he expels, cluing in. “I-I’m sorry. I thought I heard— never mind. Sorry.”

 

He quickly ducks away and I close the door, relief washing over me. I’m able to finish my shower in relative peace but I know the longer we stay here, the greater danger we’re in. I can’t be sure if we’ll have any more unexpected visitors who might sense that something is awry, or if Cosima will rise in a particularly vicious mood and cause a commotion that will draw attention. I need to get her back to my apartment as soon as possible, but doing so in the middle of the day is clearly out of the question. I know the only reason I survived my daring venture out into the daylight is because of how early it had been; had the day been deeper and the sun been higher in the sky, I would not be here to tell the tale. Once the sun sets, I’ll be free to transport her and once we’re back home, I know she’ll be in a secure environment where I can better contain her.

 

“I’ll take care of you, _mon amour,”_ I tell her, kneeling at her bedside. "I promise."

 

I dress myself in one of Cosima’s large sweaters and a pair of harem pants. I’m able to disregard the fact that I look and feel like a fool as they’re the only articles in Cosima’s wardrobe that I’m certain will fit my taller frame. I do my best to clean the blood off the floor and tidy the small space; I hadn’t even noticed the torn up state of her room, the open drawers of her dresser and the general state of disarray. Whoever was here— whoever is responsible for _this—_ was either looking for something or wanted to make it appear as such. But who would have motive to do such a thing? Who would hurt Cosima? What might they have been looking for? There’s only one person who comes to mind, but I reluctantly shake the thought out of my head.

 

“Impossible,” I utter.

 

There’s no way Aldous could have done this. 

 

How would he have gotten into Cosima’s apartment without an invitation? Even if he did somehow compel her to let him in, there’s no way he could have done such a feat in daylight; being out in the sun for mere minutes nearly killed me, so even if he had endured the searing pain, he would have been left too weak and damaged to harm Cosima in such a way and then make an escape. He would have needed blood, and he clearly didn’t drain her. The stab wound that was inflicted also baffles me considering his capabilities; he could have easily bitten her, snapped her neck, or even ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest with his bare hands if he so desired. 

 

So, why a blade?

 

The only conclusion I’m able to reach is that he must have sent someone to do the job for him. Once Cosima is well again, I will make it my purpose and sincerest pleasure to track them down and extract my sweet revenge. 

 

Until then, I patiently wait at her bedside.

 

The day eventually bleeds away without her stirring at all and once the sky is dark enough, I stuff some of her clothes into a backpack and gather her in my arms.

 

“Come, my love,” I whisper, kissing her ear.

 

With full strength and speed, I whizz across the city, carrying Cosima in my arms the entire way until we reach my apartment. Once inside, I set her down on my bed and mentally prepare myself for the next phase— the rising. I’ve never sired anyone myself and I can barely remember my own rising, but I’ve witnessed the process in others and I know the first thing I’ll need is blood— lots of blood. I venture into the kitchen to retrieve the blood bags I’ve stowed away in my fridge and it’s only when I cross the threshold and see the mess of blood on the floor that I remember my previous outburst.

 

I silently curse my own foolishness, a prominent frown marring my features.

 

I’ve only a single bag left, which is hardly enough for a newly-sprung fledgling; I’ll need to find some way to procure more rather quickly, though I know I can’t risk leaving her right now in case she should rise in my absence. I had thought that with Cosima as my new source that I would no longer have to worry about procuring blood, that I could survive off of her alone. I never could have anticipated things would turn out quite so disastrous, that we’d both find ourselves in need of a steady source. I can always go back to using my abilities to compel the hospital staff to kindly donate from their supply, though by now they’ve most likely caught wind of something— vanishing blood tends to raise a few questions and shift protocols. 

 

_There is one other option…_

 

I’m terrified to even consider it, but I know the matter may be entirely out of my hands. 

 

_If Cosima needs blood, then she will have blood._

 

I think of myself, of the rabid beast that rose up in place of the foolish human who’d so easily been taken. In the beginning, there was a great and permeating darkness that ensnared me and dictated my every act; I had thrashed around in that darkness for many years before Marion had set me straight and when I think of Cosima in such a state, every part of me aches.

 

_No._

 

Cosima has _me._

 

I had been stuck with Aldous— a man who’d delighted in watching me gorge myself, who actively encouraged my bloodlust. He said he found it to be “a thing of true beauty,” that my impulse to feed was just nature running its course. I even believed him for a while. If Marion and the coven hadn’t intervened, perhaps I’d still be terrorizing half of Europe; they’d always preached restraint and my transition into “adulthood” was one of the primary conditions for our induction into their group.

 

There’s no way I will ever allow Cosima to fall so far.

 

A creak in the bedroom reclaims my attention and I hurry back over with the blood bag in hand, a ball of anxiety bouncing around my hollow halls. I stare down at her still form with a blazing intensity, my eyes searching for even the subtlest of movements. After a solid minute of staring, I’m rewarded with nothing and I deflate, turning my back so I can return to the kitchen. I don’t even make it a single step before I’m thrashed from behind and I go flying forward.

 

“Cosima!”  


When I turn my body to face her, she’s on me again. Her eyes black and fangs bared, she snarls at me like a rabid dog and lunges for my throat, though I’m able to catch her head. She thrashes against me as I attempt to wrangle her and I find myself impressed by her strength, by the ferocity in which she snaps and claws at me.

 

“Cosima, please!” I scream, finally capturing her in an awkward headlock. “It’s me!”

 

Her snarling becomes louder, her thrashing even more aggressive. She sinks her fangs into the flesh of my arm and I cry out, releasing her as pain shoots through my arm. I recover fairly quickly though and prepare myself for the second wave of her assault, but she ignores me and races straight for the puddle of blood on my kitchen floor, dropping on all fours. I watch completely mortified as she laps the blood off the floor like dog eating scraps under the table; there’s something so demeaning about her desperation, so pathetic and repulsive that I can barely stand to watch.

 

“Here!” I call, trying to get her attention. “Drink!”

 

I hold out the last of the blood bags and she whips around, instantly zeroing in on my hand. She flashes over to me, snatching it out of my hand and growling before biting into it, downing the entire bag in a few large gulps.

 

“Cosima, you need to listen—”

 

She lunges at me again and I catch her this time, trying to hold her steady in my arms as she bucks and hisses and growls. I can tell that her bloodlust is nowhere near sated and I panic, wondering how I’ll be able to call her back from such a place. How will I get her to hear me through the haze of red and fury?

 

“It’s me. It’s Delphine,” I coo, lightly petting her dreads.

 

I try to soothe her, to speak to the human side of her that I pray hasn’t dissipated just yet. She doesn’t respond to my words though, only becomes louder and more unruly.

 

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m right here.”

 

Her elbow slams into my chest with a hard crack and I cry out in pain once more, losing my hold on her. Throwing her entire weight into me, she forces me back until my back hits the ground and I’m laid out with her on top of me. I blink a few times, trying to process the scene unfolding before me but I somehow can’t bring myself to believe it. Even when she roughly bites into the flesh of my neck, there’s something about all of this that seems far too surreal.

 

“Cosima,” I whimper, feeling her suck steadily from me.

 

It’s been far too long since someone’s actually fed from me and I consider pushing her off, but ultimately decide against it. Feeding from each other for a prolonged period of time often leads to a state of frenzied delirium, but seeing as there isn’t another blood source around and her thirst is so violent, I see no real harm in indulging her this once; if this is the only way to satisfy her bloodlust at the moment, then I will happily let her gorge herself on what little I have to offer her. 

 

I wrap my arms around her small frame, holding her close as she suckles loudly.

 

She takes.

 

And takes.

 

_And takes._

 

Like the jealous moon, she strips me bare until there’s nowhere left to hide from what I’ve done. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, me on the floor with her hanging over me. I feel a strange fuzziness flow through me until her sucking finally slows, becomes less frantic. Her pulls become short and almost gentle in comparison and I hold her to me, not knowing what else to do— how else to be. 

 

I hold her close, both of us desperately seeking warmth.

 

Her lips are cold against my skin.

 

Her eyes are even colder.

 

 


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Time for some angsty goodness! I know most of us have probably had enough of all the angst with the fandom in general, but I’m afraid it’s a necessary step. Enjoy!

The insulated bag is heavy on my shoulder as I stealthily slip out of the hospital and back under the night’s veil, my mission complete. I’m nervous about leaving Cosima alone, but her need to feed takes priority and I can’t risk bringing her out into the streets in her current condition. She had been somewhat lucid after feeding from me, enough so that she could understand my instructions to stay inside while I picked up supplies. Even still, I know I must hurry back to my apartment before the beast overtakes her once again.

 

I scale buildings with ease, traveling over the rooftops on my journey back home. The night has grown late and the streets are fairly quiet at this time, daybreak just a couple of hours away. These late hours of the night are always the best to make a hospital visit— there are less people around, less staff, so the chances of someone immediately noticing that some blood bags have gone missing are very slim. I had been able to compel a doctor to retrieve them for me and after wiping their memory, I had left as quickly as possible. I’m sure they’ll notice their missing inventory soon enough, but for now, my secret is safe.

 

As I glide through the air and close the distance to my apartment, hopping from roof-to-roof, the sound of a terrified scream rings out and I come to an immediate stop, nearly stumbling over the edge of the roof in my abruptness. Panic fills me all at once and I twirl around in place, trying to locate the source of the scream; it wasn’t too far from me— too far from my apartment. 

 

Without any further investigating, I already know what’s happening. 

 

Another scream is released, this time a strangled call for help, and I’m immediately able to locate the direction the sound is coming from. I run as fast as I can, coming upon the scene of the crime in mere seconds; the culprit of the noise is a young man, probably around Cosima’s age, with my lover hunched over his body, pinning him to the ground beneath her. 

 

I drop the bag from my shoulder.

 

“Cosima! Enough!” I call out, my voice loud and dangerous.

 

She forgets about the boy momentarily, turning to face me. Her eyes are black, fangs bared, but there’s no sign of blood on them. It seems I’ve made it just in time and she growls in my direction.

 

“Get this crazy bitch off me!” the boy calls out, squirming beneath her firm hold.

 

His struggling reclaims her attention and she dismisses me, snarling down at the boy who expels yet another scream of terror. The night may be late and there may be few people out in the streets, but at this rate, someone is bound to hear him. I dart over to them, grabbing Cosima by the scruff of the neck and roughly ranking her away from him.

 

“Stop this— _now!”_ I demand, my own fangs exposed.

 

In her current state, the only things she’s able to understand are blood and force. She growls at me again and lunges towards me in a vicious rage, but I’m able to catch her mid-air and throw her back to the ground.

 

“Cosima!”

 

I match her beast with my own, one that’s far stronger, with centuries of experience. Her bloodlust had caught me off guard before, but I’m prepared for it now and every time she lunges for me, I quickly and roughly shut her down, asserting my dominance over the fledgling. The boy watches our spat with wide-eyes and a gaping mouth, paralyzed in shock and horror. After a few more minutes of her throwing herself at me and attempting to overpower me, I realize that her fury will not be exhausted this way and I finally pin her to the ground.

 

“Enough of this!” I bark, pushing her face to the ground and growling in her ear. “You _will_ listen to me!”

 

I pin her arms behind her back, knee to her spine, holding her securely. Even still, she attempts to struggle and thrash against me, her movements limited. I hold her there, hoping she’ll come to her senses and realize how futile her resistance is, but she remains as stubborn as ever. That’s when I deliver a harsh blow to her head with my elbow, effectively silencing her.

 

“J-Jesus Christ! W-W-What the hell _are_ you two?”

 

I turn my attention back to the boy on the ground a safe distance away. He does his best to find his feet, but stumbles over himself and back pedals until he falls on the hard ground once again. With Cosima unconscious, I slowly slide off of her and stalk over to him, sheathing my fangs and returning my features to their more inviting state.

 

“You’re going to forget everything you’ve seen here tonight,” I tell him, ensnaring him in my spell. “You’ve been out drinking all night and you blacked out. You’ll wake up in the morning with a terrible hangover.”

 

He nods in understanding.

 

“Yeah. Sure.”

 

“Good. Now go.”

 

Without another word, he picks himself up and calmly wanders off down the street. My eyes follow him until he turns a corner and escapes my immediate field of vision. The problem resolved, I walk back over to where Cosima lay, throwing her limp body over my shoulder. Then I collect the transport bag I had discarded earlier and continue on my way.

 

 

 

As soon as I return home, I drop the bag to the floor and carry an unconscious Cosima back over to my bed where I had initially left her. I place her gently on the mattress and stare down at her still form, taking a moment to revel; I know that the second she awakens, a great fury will tear through her again and launch her back into a rabid state of hunger and so I savour this moment of brief peace, placing a kiss to her forehead. 

 

I know what I must do.

 

I never wanted to be forced into this position, but after pulling her off that boy, I realize now that my words alone will not be enough to coax her out of her bloodlust. I return to my living room, retrieving the bag and bringing it to the kitchen where I set it upon the table. Her body will demand hot blood the second she awakens and so I must satisfy her. I find a large pot and set it upon the stove, then pull bag after bag of blood from the insulated bag on the table. I open them, pouring them into the pot and turning the stove on to allow it to heat up.

 

The next thing I must do is contain her properly.

 

Perhaps I was a fool to think that she would obey my command to stay in the apartment. It’s true, a sire’s words have great influence over their young offspring, but their words aren’t nearly strong enough to subdue the hunger. I reach into the insulated bag once more, to the very bottom, and I hiss in pain as soon as I feel the heavy chains touch my hand. I grip them, pulling them from the bag and biting back the pain as I feel my palms burn against them.

 

Silver.

 

I carry the chains back to the bedroom, staring down at Cosima as my hands crackle beneath the toxic silver. I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to inflict any sort of pain upon her, but my options are limited

 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wrapping one of the longer chains around her torso. “You leave me no choice.”

 

Her clothing momentarily protects her from the burn, but in minutes it will sear through her garments and begin to nip at her flesh, rousing her from her state of unconsciousness. I move quickly, weaving the remaining chains around her legs and wrists until I’m confident that she’s subdued. Sure enough, as soon as I’ve completed my task, she bursts awake and cries out, thrashing against them.

 

“Cosima,” I say, trying to reach her once more.

 

She snarls, fangs bared and snapping and I wince as I watch her flesh hiss beneath the silver’s cruelty. 

 

“I’ll take them off when you start listening to me,” I promise her. “Until then, this is how it must be.”

 

She shoots me a glare, her eyes a deep, molten black.

 

I rush into the kitchen, to the pot of blood I’ve left to simmer and I dip my finger in to test the temperature. Satisfied, I turn the stove off and pour some of it into a glass, then bring both the pot and the glass back into the bedroom. As soon as she sees me with the blood in hand, she becomes even more frenzied, the chains digging deeper and hurting her more as she struggles against them.

 

“Easy,” I tell her, bringing the glass to her lips. 

 

I help her sit up just enough so she can drink. In seconds, the glass is empty and I fill it once more, returning to her and repeating the process. She drinks with a vigour I’ve never seen before, draining glass after glass until the pot is completely empty. As I pull the empty glass away for a final time, she licks her lips and meets my eyes. She’s more present than she was before, the hunger not quite as blinding but still unrelenting.

 

“More,” she demands with a grunt.

 

I frown.

 

“I… I don’t have any,” I whisper. “That was all of it.”

 

It had been difficult, but I procured as much blood as I could and while I thought I’d grabbed enough to satisfy her at least for the next day, here she is snarling at me, still ravenous and demanding.

 

“More!” she growls.

 

She tugs against the chains even more, so much so that the skin which has blistered beneath them begins to bleed as they dig, her wounds becoming deeper.

 

“Cosima, please! Stop!” I beg her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her down to the mattress.

 

The silver chains were meant to subdue, not to seriously harm her and at this rate, she’ll tear herself up completely in a bid to escape and sate her hunger. Realizing that I once again have no other option, I lean forward and offer her my neck.

 

“Here.”

 

She latches on quickly, her fangs piercing my skin in the very same place as before. I cradle her head to me and she doesn’t seem to notice or care, allowing me to hold her as close as I can while she feeds. She hasn’t let me touch her since she’s turned, always fighting back and lashing out against me. I wish I could say I’m not bothered by this fact, but I’m so desperate for contact that I allow her to violate me.

 

“This is the last time,” I say softly. “If you keep drinking from me, you’ll go mad.”

 

She stops sucking, pulling away from me with blood-stained lips, her hunger finally satisfied. Her eyes return to that state of warm amber that I’m familiar with, her fangs retract and for a moment, I can almost pretend like she’s the Cosima I’ve fallen in love with.

 

That is, until she finally speaks.

 

She's been limited to grunts and one-worded snarls up until this point, lost too deep in the hysteria of hunger to find even a shred of her humanity. I thought I’d be elated to hear her return to a steadier state of mind, but instead I’m simply reminded of the gravity of our situation.

 

“Then you should have let me eat him,” she says, her voice lower than I remember it ever being.

 

Her eyes never leave me as she lays back, forfeiting her struggle against the chains. Despite her chilling words, I take this as a positive sign, or at least a sign that she’s rational enough to hear me. 

 

“No,” I mutter as I start to undo the chains.

 

She winces as I peel them away from her marred skin, though the pain will be forgotten in a matter of minutes when she’s healed completely. 

 

“Why not?” she inquires.

 

I drop her chains to the floor with a heavy thunk but even with her newfound freedom, she makes no attempt to lunge at me or even move from her current position. She closes her eyes and continues to recline, presumably to allow herself to heal.

 

“I won’t let… that’s not who you are,” I try to explain.

 

She may be one of us now, but Cosima is _not_ a monster. Even in the face of overwhelming evidence, I cannot bring myself to accept this. 

 

I am her sire.

 

I have a say in how she will be raised, in how I will teach her to navigate the world in her newfound state. I will not allow her to descend into an even further darkness. 

 

_I will not allow her to become a killer._

 

“Like you know anything about me,” she scoffs, a small and crooked smirk finding her lips.

 

“I know _everything_ about you,” I counter, my voice harsh and serious.

 

When she opens her eyes again, her expression is one that’s unnameable to me. 

 

“No— you _knew_ everything about me,” she corrects me. “Not anymore.”

 

I cannot disguise my frown, cannot pretend that her newfound rebellious attitude doesn’t affect me. Her words are like a miniature sun, engulfing me in a blanket of white hot pain that burns straight to the bone. 

 

“That’s not true,” I say, my voice nearly breaking.

 

She remains stoic, unmoved by my display of emotion. Instead she rolls over onto her side, turning her back to me without a single word. 

 

I can feel her slipping.

 

_Have I already lost this fight?_

 

I steady myself, try to reign in control over my emotions and the situation that is beginning to unfold. What Cosima needs now is stability— is _guidance_. She may not know it yet, but she is so fragile in her current state. She needs me to stand strong right now, to open up the door and lead her down the proper path. 

 

The first step is teaching her how to hunt.

 

It’s clear that with the intensity of her hunger, scavenging hospitals for a few blood bags whenever I can will not suffice. My only real option is teaching her how to hunt. While hunting is something that is innate to our kind, feeding without killing is something that requires a great deal of discipline that even the best of us still sometimes struggle with. If I am to reach Cosima, if I am to protect her, then I must begin teaching her my ways.

 

“I can show you how—”

 

“I don’t want your help!” she snaps, springing up in my bed to glare at me.

 

I swallow hard and pretend that her outburst hasn’t shaken me.

 

“Even so,” I say calmly. “You need it.”

 

“Like hell I do,” she scoffs again, slinging her feet over the bed.

 

She stands, stepping closer until her face is mere inches from mine, invading my space. The last time her lips were so close to mine, I was pressing sweet kisses to them, but there’s nothing soft or tender about this exchange. 

 

This is her testing my patience, testing her own limitations.

 

“I’m not going to let you run around and terrorize people,” I say sternly. “You’ll expose the both us. You’ll get us killed.”

 

Her eyes search my own, search for a point of weakness, but I stand tall and give her nothing. Like a parent with an unruly teenager, I know if I give in or show even a sliver of doubt, she will pounce on the opportunity and exploit it. My eyes remain narrowed and hard as I allow her to look me over and when she realizes she’ll get nothing more from me, she stands down.

 

“Whatever,” she mutters, turning her back on me once again.

 

She walks over to where I’ve set the empty pot down on the nightstand, dipping her finger inside to collect the small remnants of blood that cling to the side. She brings her finger to her mouth and licks it clean like a child licking a bowl of batter. 

 

“I can teach you how to hunt,” I say, watching her desperately lap up every last drop.

 

She throws the pot across the room and it crashes into the wall loudly, startling me.

 

“I already told you— I don’t need your help!” she roars, lunging at me.

 

Much like before, I easily deflect her attacks, swatting her away as if she were some small nuisance. The ease in which I’m able to shut her down only fuels her rage and she grows more boisterous, her fangs expanding and snarls becoming louder. I know I must be firm, that the only way she will learn to respect and obey me is if I demonstrate my dominance over her, so I grab her by one of her flailing fists and twist her arm, flipping her onto her back rather harshly. Once she’s on the ground, I pin her again, holding her hands on either side of her head as I straddle her.

 

“Are you finished?” I deadpan, one of my brows arching slightly.

 

“Get off of me!” she yells, writhing beneath me. “Don’t touch me!”

 

She glares up at me with a malice I never thought I’d see in her eyes and it cuts me far deeper than I’d like to admit.

 

“I-I’m just trying to help you,” I whisper, defeated. “Please let me.”

 

“You’ve done enough!”

 

I try to hide the tremble of my lower lip as I slide off of her and she quickly skids across the floor, placing more distance between us. She backs herself up until she's against the wall like some sort of cornered animal and I watch her with damp eyes, mortified by the situation that’s unfolding before my very eyes— the situation that _I’ve_ created, that I’m powerless to stop.

 

“You want to help me?” she asks, glare still intact. “Stay the hell away from me!”

 

I swallow hard.

 

“I can’t do that,” I tell her.

 

My answer seems to surprise her in some small way. She regards me with a slight curiosity.

 

“Why?”

 

I step a little closer.

 

“Because I love you,” I confess. “I won’t let you go through this alone.”

 

The laughter which follows rattles me. She shrugs me off as if I were some lunatic, perhaps some religious zealot spouting radical ideals about a God no one else can see.

 

“You keep saying that— that you love me,” she says bitterly. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

 

Her words are another blow and I try to conceal their damage.

 

_When did you become so cruel?_

 

The Cosima I know would never say such a thing. I know I shouldn’t be surprised— that this is the beast speaking— but somehow I didn’t think I’d lose her so completely. Is there really nothing left of her? _Nothing at all?_ Somehow, I just can’t believe this.

 

“Please don't say such things,” I ask her politely, my voice a squeak.

 

“Why? Does it hurt?” she asks, her voice raised and feathers ruffled. “As much as this _burning in my stomach?”_

 

She lashes out, this time at the bedside table. She smashes it to pieces in her anger, emphasizing her point. All I can do is stand back and watch her slowly unravel.

 

“I’m sorry,” I utter.

 

I bow my head, unable to look her in the eyes. She sees her opening and pushes away from the wall, closing in on me. She’s on the offensive now— not literally, as she’s seemed to figure out how useless her attacks are against me, but she’s found a way to deal much more effective damage with her words alone. 

 

“No you’re not,” she spits. 

 

When I lift my gaze from the floor, I see darkness staring back at me.

 

“Not yet.”

 

 

 


	16. XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Here, have some more angst! This is going to be a long process, kids-- but I promise it’ll be worth it in the end. But at least we’re sorta seeing some progress in this one? Bahaha, silver lining and all ;)
> 
>  **Shoutouts:** I’d like to give a shoutout to **mmrae** over on Tumblr, who’s been making donations over on my Patreon page-- you’re the best! 1000x thanks, my friend. You have no idea how much I appreciate it :)

“Slower now.”

 

I hover over Cosima, watching as she holds the girl close to her body, face burrowed in her neck as the sweetness of blood fills the chamber of her mouth and slides down her throat in steady gulps, warming her. The girl— a slender young redhead whom we intercepted leaving a local student bar— puts up no sort of resistance as Cosima drinks from her; whether it’s shock or weakness from the blood loss, she slumps back against the wall with a colourless face, her eyes fluttering and muted whimpers occasionally slipping out while Cosima drinks her fill.

 

“That’s enough,” I speak again, drawing Cosima back from the edge.

 

She begrudgingly stops herself, pulling away from the girl with a pout upon her scarlet lips and a low whine of frustration. It’s taken so long for us to reach this point, for Cosima to stop herself without me roughly yanking her off her target. There had been many long and tumultuous nights between the two of us leading up to this moment, but it appears as though all of my patience and both of our shared frustration is finally beginning to pay off.

 

Cosima’s eyes follow me closely as I step in, approaching the girl who slowly slides down the wall until she’s slouched over completely, sitting on the hard ground. She floats upon the surface of consciousness, not quite entirely aware of her situation but far from succumbing to the darkness. 

 

“You’re fine,” I tell her, helping her to her feet again.

 

“I’m… fine?” she repeats rather weakly.

 

“Yes. That’s right.”

 

She opens her eyes a little wider to find my own gazing back at her and that’s all it takes for her to fall into the realm of my influence. She slowly nods, rubbing the two small puncture wounds on her neck like a sore muscle.

 

“You’ve had too much to drink. You met a boy. He was… quite rough with you,” I instruct. “You’ll be sore in the morning, but you’ll be fine.”

 

She nods again, expressing her understanding.

 

“You will flag down the next taxi cab you see and you will go straight home.”

 

With that, I set her free and we both watch as she wobbles on unsteady feet, slinking out of the alleyway we retreated into for cover. I look over to Cosima again and a small smile finds my lips when I notice her features have returned to normal. She wipes her stained lips on the back of her hand and arches a brow.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” I dismiss her, shaking my head gently.

 

She shrugs before starting up again, urging me to follow as we exit the alleyway and head back out into the street. The night is not too late yet but already she’s fed from two— the redheaded girl from just moments ago and another boy we’d managed to lure into a washroom at a club with the promise of having both of us together. Men are so easy that way. I didn’t even need to cast him under my spell, the mere prospect of having two women together was enough to make him race ahead of us into the single washroom, enough to keep a dopey, ignorant grin plastered to his face as Cosima fed from him and he insisted it was “the greatest moment of his life,” that he was into “kinky shit.” She’d taken more from him than the redhead and he’d ended up losing consciousness, but once I was satisfied he was in no real danger of losing his life, we’d alerted one of his friends that he’d passed out in the middle and they’d come to scoop him up with smug and lecherous gazes.

 

“Shall we find another?” I ask her.

 

Her hunger is not nearly as ravenous as it had been when I first turned her. After a few months of our “lessons,” she’s been able to control it enough to be around others without instantly lunging for their throats, though I still see the temptation sparkling in her eyes. That being said, she still requires nightly feedings to be sated, sometimes from as many as five or six unsuspecting targets. I expect at least one more for the night, but her answer surprises me.

 

“Nah. I’m not really feeling it.”

 

I stop.

 

_“Feeling it?”_ I repeat, blinking a few times.

 

Her words confuse me.

 

“You kinda suck the fun out of it, you know— hovering around me like a helicopter mom,” she sighs, stretching her arms high above her head as she continues onward.

 

I swallow hard, catching up with her in a few hurried steps.

 

“Well, once I’m sure you won’t kill someone, you’ll have more breathing room.”

 

_“Breathing room?”_ she repeats my words with an air of incredulity, a brow arched rather prominently.

 

I stop again, realizing my poor choice of words.

 

“Sorry,” I say, my apology a quiet creak in the night.

 

“Yeah. Whatever.”

 

We walk another block in complete silence, heading in the direction of what has now become _our_ apartment. I know I should probably say something to break the air of tension, but the words elude me. 

 

_The night had been going so well, too._

 

“In case you’ve forgotten, I haven’t killed anyone so far,” she says, the first to break our silence.

 

“Because I’ve had to pull you away,” I immediately respond.

 

“You didn’t have to pull me away tonight, did you?”

 

She makes no attempt to hide her irritation with me and I realize at this point that there is very little I can say to appease her. I close my eyes for a calming second to gather my patience and carefully consider my words. 

 

“No. Not _physically,”_ I concede. “But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have drained them both dry if I hadn’t told you to stop.”

 

I expect her to be angry, to lash out at me again.

 

Instead, she smirks.

 

“You’re probably right.”

 

She reassumes her silence, and I notice a flicker in her eyes before she darts ahead of me, using her newly discovered speed to tear through the streets. I expel a long sigh before I’m off, as well, easily catching up with her as we race towards the apartment. A part of me considers letting her win this one, but I know I most likely won’t hear the end of it for some time and so I pull ahead of her at the last second, beating her through the door.

 

“That doesn’t count,” she pouts, kicking her shoes off as she closes the door behind her.

 

“Oh?” I prod her with a smirk.

 

“Yeah. It’s not a fair race,” she argues. “You’re, like, a thousands years old. We’re not even in the same league.”

“You’re right. We’re _not_ in the same league,” I nod. “It’s nice to see you finally understand this.”

 

She grumbles, wandering over to the couch and dropping down into the comfort of its leather hold. In the many times she’s challenged me, she’s always lost. Even though she’s been turned, even though I’ve tried my hardest to honour her old, human wish to see her as an equal, the gap in our strength and experience is too great. I’ve been forced to assert my dominance over her simply as a means of keeping her in line and now that she’s come to realize just how much greater my strength is, I hope it means she will no longer clash against me, or at least not quite so violently.

 

“That thing you do— the memory wipe-thingy,” she says, capturing my attention once again. “Can I do that, too?”

 

My smirk widens.

 

I knew it would only be a matter of time before the topic came up. 

 

I walk along the back of the couch, staring down at her as she outstretches her body, the leather crunching beneath her movements and her shirt riding up ever-so-slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned flesh. It’s strange for me to see her in such a state— so at ease on the couch. Ever since I turned her, I’d forfeited the bed to her in a gesture of chivalry and good will; she was not ready to resume our closeness, her non-beating heart too wounded and withdrawn for us to sleep curled in on each other as we always had. As much as it pained me to do so, I respected her anger and her need to distance herself from me in protest. In the months since her rebirth, I’ve taken to the couch and since then, I’ve been too aware of her avoidance of the piece of furniture, the way she circles around it with her face scrunched in contempt, never _ever_ daring to take a seat. Perhaps it’s because the leather has been saturated in my scent— a scent she seems desperate to escape.

 

And now she lay, passive and seemingly unguarded, bathed in my scent but showing no signs of distain. It is the smallest victory, but a victory nonetheless— one I celebrate silently in the privacy of my thoughts.

 

“It’s an acquired skill,” I answer her, running my fingers along the back of the couch. “It must be honed before you can alter a person’s memory.”

 

I catch her eyes, a spark of curiosity shooting through them as my finger traces a seam. Now that I know I have her full attention, I lean down just a little bit lower and when she doesn’t snarl at me, I continue.

 

“You’ll find that you have more of an influence over people now— that they’ll be drawn to you, more… open to suggestion,” I try to explain.

 

Her lips twitch into a small smile.

 

“I can make people do things?”

 

I chuckle.

 

Like an eager child, the only thing she can think of is playing with her new toy— or in this case, testing her newfound abilities. She tries her hardest to find the faintest light in the darkness she’s now found herself enveloped in, though her anger towards me and her newfound existence is far from subsiding.

 

“We’ll test the limits of your abilities soon,” I say. “We’ll find out just how far you can push them. With enough time and practice, yes— you’ll be able to make people obey your commands.”

 

Her smile widens, her eyebrows lift rather suggestively. For a moment, I’m rewarded a brief glimpse of the girl who preceded all of this, of her charm and enthusiasm and unquenchable curiosity. Her thirst runs deeper now, is more primal in nature, but for a moment I can see that perhaps all my effort has not been in vain.

 

“When do we start?” 

 

“Once I’m certain you won’t abuse it,” I reply almost instantly, pulling myself away from the couch as I tread through the living room and head towards the bedroom. 

 

“What does that even mean?” she calls out in my wake.

 

“That I don’t trust you yet,” I shout back to her, peeling my top off as soon as I enter the privacy of the bedroom. “You still have a long way to go.”

 

I begin to remove the rest of my clothes, deciding that maybe a shower will help to soothe the ache that radiates through my body. As I step out of my underwear, I become aware of the eyes that sear a hole into my naked back and I whip around to find Cosima in the doorway, an indecipherable look upon her face as she leans against the frame.

 

“And then are you gonna let me off my leash?” 

 

Her voice is thick, but her eyes never dare to lower, to take in the rest of my nude form. I wear my own expression of imperviousness, a mask which stands in sharp contrast to the stabbing sensation I feel in my chest when I hear her speak such words.

 

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

 

She nods, her swallow hard and audible from where I stand.

 

“Good.”

 

A low moan escapes my lips the second I step under the shower’s spray and am rewarded by its scalding heat, nearly buckling beneath its welcomed caress. After washing myself thoroughly, I linger even longer, hiding from Cosima amongst the billows of steam for the time being. I cannot bring myself to face her just yet, especially after the strangely layered conversation I left her on; I know she will be waiting on the other side, most likely full of more snideness that I can’t say I don’t deserve. 

 

I decide that, for the moment, I will remember her how I like her best— with a warm smile and glowing skin that glides slickly against my own as my body ripples over hers like the rolling tide. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt that kind of warmth from her— that connection. A part of me even wishes that I could forget her touch just to make this distance between us a little more bearable, but alas, the memory of it is etched into my mind and branded into my skin, claiming me. My hand descends lower, finding the juncture of my thighs and I expel a quiet whimper as I succumb to a moment of selfish indulgence.

 

When I do finally emerge from the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe and towelling my hair dry, I pad out into the living room and stop dead in my tracks when I find her reclining on the couch once again. She flips through the pages of the book I’m currently reading, seemingly unaware of or unaffected by my presence.

 

“Cosima.”

 

She looks up, closing the book and setting it aside. She sits upright and waits for me to speak, shooting me a puzzled look when she’s met with no follow up. I’m at a loss for words myself so instead I make my way over to her, draping the damp towel over the back of the couch before slowly taking a seat in the spot next to her.

 

“What? What is it?” she asks, cocking her head as she still waits for some sort of explanation.

 

She doesn’t push away, doesn’t stand up and retreat into the bedroom like I expect her to do. She makes no attempt to carve more space between us like she’s done in the months since I turned her. While she doesn’t draw closer, she doesn’t recoil and for me, this is a great victory.

 

“Nothing,” I say, my voice a shaky whisper. “Just… you did well tonight.”

 

“Yeah. I guess,” she shrugs off my praise.

 

I meet her eyes, my lower lip trembling as I search them for some sort of confirmation. What she does next is the most unexpected of things— it’s faint and ever brief, but the corners of her lips twitch and she offers me what I’d describe as a smile. My entire body begins to quake with anticipation and I find myself unable to stop.

 

_“Oh, my love.”_

 

I surge forward, my lids sliding shut as I press my lips to hers. The contact is very brief though, as she sharply pulls herself away not even a second after I’m awarded the softness of her lips. The fire dies before it has a chance to truly kindle, the embers stomped out by the wideness of her eyes, of the anger and fear and sadness which seems to rise to the surface and bubble within them.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

I quickly realize my folly and pull away, my eyes just as wide as I stutter, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, some sort of excuse for my perceived invasion.

 

“I… I…”

 

I wait for her wrath, for some sort of great explosion to follow.

 

“Look, I—”

 

She stops herself, her hands balled into tight, shaking fists that press against her thighs.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

When I look up, she’s quickly and quietly retreating into the bedroom, closing the door securely behind her and leaving me alone with my thoughts. Once I’m certain that I’m completely alone, I bury my head in my hands.

 

I weep.

 

 

 

 


	17. XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Sorry for the long wait. I ended up tweaking this chapter a little bit which is why it took so long, but here it is. We’re slowly nearing the end-- I have twenty-two chapters planned, plus an epilogue-- so that’s only six more updates! It just feels a little strange to be nearing the finish line after having spent so much time with this fic, but it’s a satisfying feeling. There will be plenty more fic to follow, so don’t fret. And once again, I’d like to give a shoutout to **mmrae** over on Tumblr for donating over on my Patreon page. Your support is greatly appreciated, friend :)

“We should head back now,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence of the dead night. “It’s getting close.”

 

I hang behind her as she stands along the edge of the roof, her eyes eagerly drinking in the world beneath her. I’m reminded of the last time we were on a rooftop together— the time I nearly succumbed to my hunger and devoured her whole, so very far from where we are now. I find myself revisiting these old moments quite often now, whether I want to or not. For some reason or another, we always circle back to them, blindly wading through the fog like strangers in a town we used to know so well— mere reflections of the people we were. 

 

But now is not the time to lose myself in mirrors or memories; the sun will be up shortly and with it, our lease on the world for the time being. I’m the very last person who wants to pull her from her brief asylum, but I take a step closer to remind her of my presence, of the approaching dawn.

 

“Yeah,” she mutters, slowly stepping down from the ledge.

 

She’s been distant since I tried to kiss her, more so than usual. Her tactic seems to have changed however; she hasn’t lashed out, hasn’t used her anger as a tool to dig this gap between us. Instead she’s mostly silent, lost in quiet contemplation as I watch her, too afraid to slip in and disturb her. It’s as if she’s erected a wall of glass, carefully encasing herself in it’s fragile shelter. 

 

“Let’s go.”

 

She’s had her fill for the night, draining three young women and a man before I followed her up here to enjoy the last little bit of freedom. Even without an explanation, I know exactly what she’s doing; she’s taking a mental snapshot, enjoying that strange moment of peace just before the moon retreats and the sun pokes up again. For me (and for Cosima, I’ve come to suspect), this is a sacred moment— one where we’re no longer creatures on the prowl. With full stomachs, quiet canines and clear minds, we’re able to truly appreciate the time and place in history we’ve found ourselves in.

 

We both pull ourselves from the illusion, leaping from our rooftop refuge and rejoining the rest of the world. Instead of challenging me to a race all the way home, she strolls leisurely down the street, leading us on a slight detour from our usual route. I wonder what she’s up to, why she’s taking such an indirect path, but once I find us meandering through her old college campus, I feel a frown spread across my face.

 

“Figured we’d take the scenic route,” she shrugs.

 

And though she says it so dismissively, I know there’s nothing dismissive in the gesture— that her decision to lead us this way is so very deliberate and meticulously thought out in her mind, not a product of whim or coincidence.

 

“Let’s not dawdle,” I tell her. “The sun will be up soon.”

 

But it’s not the fear of the sun that has me hesitating, has my eyes carefully scanning the quad for any signs of life. Just as Paris became darker and heavier upon my turning, she tests the gravity of this once familiar space; can she move as freely as she remembers? Or does it hold her still like quicksand, sucking in all she once knew and held dear, trapping her in a dark, dead zone?

 

“C-Cosima?”

 

The voice which calls to her rings like a diluted bell, distant and almost watery to my ears. It’s familiar, that much I’m sure of, though I can’t quite place it despite knowing that I’ve heard it before. Cosima seems to have no trouble, though; without even turning to look, her entire body tenses up and she’s frozen and place.

 

“Hey!”

 

This time it’s a man’s voice and when the couple approaches us, arms slung around each other in an affectionate manner, I’m able to place them rather easily. Zach and Allie— two of Cosima’s friends I met that one night at the bar— offer us both slightly drunk and bewildered smiles as they presumably return from a long night out.

 

“What’s up, Cos?” Allie asks, reaching out to swat a mortified Cosima on the arm in a playful manner. “We haven’t seen you in ages!”

 

“Yeah! Some of us thought you might be dead,” Zach laughs. 

 

Cosima’s abandonment of her old life had been rather sudden. It had to be. Once she was lucid enough to understand me, I had explained to her why going back simply wasn’t an option at this point in time. In the blink of an eye, she’d lost all of her friends, her academic career, and her family. It was a pain that, for as well as I understood it, I could not heal.

 

“She’s been with me,” I speak up, answering for my pale-faced progeny. “We’ve been traveling.”

 

“Wow. Wish I had a sugar mamma to bank roll my adventures around the world,” Zach jests again.

 

Cosima regards him with wide and slightly dangerous eyes and as if on cue, I quickly slip my hand into hers to both maintain our illusion as lovers and to tether her, to perhaps comfort her with my presence and suppress whatever rage and trauma are bubbling inside of her. She doesn’t slink away from my touch, though she doesn’t respond to it, either; she remains still, almost catatonic.

 

“Does this mean you’ll be coming back to school?” Allie asks, rapid fire with the questions. “I mean, we’re already pretty deep into the semester. I guess you’d have to wait until winter semester to start up again.”

 

Cosima roughly squeezes my hand, nearly quaking.

 

“She’s… taking some time off,” I say, nervously chewing on my lower lip.

 

The two intoxicated lovers may not notice, but I can feel so many conflicting emotions simmering beneath her surface and radiating off of her. I fear that they will explode violently, that all of the control she’s learned these past few months will go flying out the window and not because of the hunger, but because of something perhaps even more dangerous— her unwillingness to truly let go of what she once had.

 

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Allie nods, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I guess I just sorta thought you had everything together. I mean, you were, like, at the top of all our classes. I never really thought you’d need to step back or whatever. But I guess we all have our personal stuff to sort through, huh?”

 

“I’ll say,” Zach chimes in. “At least you’re not in rehab or pregnant or whatever. Don’t know if you heard, but Kayla got knocked up. Guess she’ll be buying diapers instead of textbooks now.”

 

“Stop it!” Allie scolds him, smacking him on the shoulder and eliciting another burst of laughter from her boyfriend. “Don’t be such a dick.”

 

“I’m sure Cosima will be back when she feels ready to return,” I answer again for her, turning to gauge her reaction. “Isn’t that right?”

 

She rips her hand from mine, tearing away from the three of us in a hurry. While Zach and Allieare both shocked and confused by her abrupt departure, my sympathetic gaze follows her until she dips into one of the tunnels and disappears from my line of vision.

 

“Uh… okay? What was that about?” Zach mumbles.

 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “She’s had a rough night. Please don’t take it personally.”

 

I waste no time in wiping most of their memories of the night, effectively killing Cosima once again. Perhaps I’m being overly cautious, but the last thing either of us needs is someone prying into her sudden disappearance and looking too closely. I leave the couple where I found them, drunkenly stumbling through the quad on their way back to the dorms.

 

When I arrive home, I’m relieved to find her there waiting for me. She paces back and forth across the living room, consumed by her anxious thoughts while I watch her silently for a moment with a furrowed brow.

 

“I never should have— _God,”_ she expels, her frustration seeping out. _“_ I’m so stupid.”

 

My instinct is to touch her, but I hang back. In her agitated state, I’m afraid she’ll either crumble or explode beneath my uncertain hands and so I keep them to myself.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

My voice is soft as I find the courage to cautiously approach her, but I freeze when she whirls around to face me, her features drawn into a scowl.

 

“What do you think?” she snaps back.

 

Of course, we both already know the answer.

 

_She’s so very far from okay._

 

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

 

She’s the one to step closer this time, stalking towards me with heavy footsteps until she’s in my face and the courage I’ve mustered up quickly leaves me like blood trickling from a deep, open wound.

 

“Would you stop saying that?” she asks, jaw clenched and fangs pointed. “All you ever say anymore is “I’m sorry.” I don’t care that you’re sorry, Delphine. I can’t do anything with your apology.”

 

“I’m—”

 

I catch myself before another useless apology escapes me. My head hangs low in defeat and she scoffs, backing down with a shake of her head. She’s unnervingly silent for a moment before a great crash captures my attention and I notice that she's sent the coffee table flying across the room with a swift and powerful kick.

 

“It gets easier,” I tell her.

 

I’m not sure if I actually believe those words, but I’m compelled to give her _something_ — anything that might offer even a glimpse of hope, reveal some sort of light at the end of this seemingly never-ending tunnel. If she’s aware of my own uncertainty, she disregards it because I hear a soft, sad chuckle slip out.

 

“Is that really such a good thing?”

 

I offer her a meek smile.

 

“Maybe not,” I admit. “Maybe there are no good things.”

 

“Now _that’s_ a comforting thought,” she retorts, a glimpse of her humour returning. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

 

She makes a move for the bedroom door, indicating the end of our conversation and her intent to isolate herself until our next hunt. I move faster, placing myself between her and the door and blocking her off, reclaiming her attention.

 

“All I know is that it doesn’t have to be like this, Cosima. You can come back from this— you can still _live your life,_ ” I say, unable to control the waver in my voice. “Maybe not the same way as before, but… I wouldn’t have turned you if I didn’t think it was possible.”

 

She watches me through narrowed slits, considering my desperate words. She tries to maintain her aloof demeanour, perhaps to convince us both that she’s unable to trust in my faith, but the flicker in her golden hues tells me otherwise; somewhere inside, somewhere deep and dormant, she _wants_ to believe that I’m right, but I can tell the very prospect terrifies her— the idea of allowing herself to believe it leaves her wide open for more heartbreak and disappointment should my claim prove false. I reach out, my hands cupping her face and miraculously enough, she allows me to hold her like that while I make one last attempt to appeal to her.

 

“Do you remember when you first found out what I was?” I ask.

 

She slides her hands up my arms, bringing them to rest atop my own which frame her face. She squeezes them with a tame pressure and sinks her fangs into her lower lip to stop it from trembling. I smile then, knowing that I’ve managed to strike some sort of lingering, human chord within her.

 

“You didn’t run from me. Even when you watched me feed, you didn’t turn away. You stayed— because you knew what kind of person I really was,” I press onward, flooding both our minds with memories of a strangely simpler time. “You knew _me_ , so the rest didn’t matter.”

 

“Just stop,” she pleads, her voice nearly breaking.

 

She attempts to free herself from my grasp but I hold her still.

 

“No— _listen to me!”_

 

The last time I held her like this was right before she walked out my door; with my deception out in the open, she recoiled in fear and anger and disgust and I held onto her as if both of our lives depended on it. I had confessed my love and though my words were true then, I feel a much greater depth to them now.

 

_“_ I have to believe that’s still the case,” I conclude. “I have to believe that you’re still you, that these new circumstances don’t define you.”

 

Having said my piece, I slowly release her and wait for some sort of reaction. Given her most recent behaviour and still-juvenile state, I have no idea just what to expect; an eruption of anger seems just as likely as a deluge of tears and I can tell by the way her expression twists and contorts that she’s just as unprepared as I am.

 

“Everything I wanted—”

 

She stops mid-way through her thought, composing herself more completely before continuing.

 

“It’s all out _there,”_ she finishes, gesturing towards the unseen sky. “And I’m stuck _here_. How the hell is that supposed to work?”

 

I nod, acknowledging her pain. Despite all my years, I still haven’t grown entirely used to the idea of being trapped away from half of the world either, or at the very least I haven’t been able to fully accept it, especially since I met Cosima.

 

“There may be a way,” I mutter pensively, a thought slipping into my mind.

 

We are not the first ones to curse the night. 

 

Even with all of our grand abilities that we’ve gained in return, losing daylight means forfeiting far more than any one of us is comfortable admitting. At some point in our prolonged lives, every one of us has secretly (or not so secretly) yearned for the sun— so much so that our brightest minds thought it a prudent investment to explore every avenue.

 

“What? For me to _not_ burst into flames the second I step out the door into the sun?” she asks, ripe with confusion. “For me to live like an actual fucking person?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Her scepticism is palpable as she looks me over, searching for a sign deception. 

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

I step away from her, taking my turn to pace the outline of my living room as I wrack my brain. With everything that’s been happening with Cosima, I haven’t had the time to give my brief meeting with Aldous any more thought, though now that I do, his words strike me even more than they did initially.

 

“I can’t say more. I don’t know anymore than that. All I know is that it might be possible,” I reply, my voice quiet and steady. “If there is a way, I’ll find it.”

 

She laughs sardonically, her brows rising 

 

“You’re delusional,” she dismisses me.

 

“I’m not!”

 

I rush back over to where she’s standing, filled to the brim with a sudden and serious energy that has me buzzing with potential. She’s taken aback by this burst of enthusiasm and her body tenses.

 

“The one who turned me— the man I ran away from all those years ago— he’s a brilliant scientist,” I say.

 

“The one you told me about before,” she nods, recalling an earlier conversation we’d had.

 

Naturally, she’d been curious about my own sire and turning process. I tried my best to recount my experience and as soon as I told her about Aldous, her curiosity was peaked even more. Without going into too much detail, I had given her a brief rundown on who he was and why I had fled his tutelage.

 

“He said that he was working on a way for us to be able to walk in the sun. I thought he was speaking nonsense, but maybe there’s something to it,” I reveal.

 

She folds her arms over her chest, still unconvinced.

 

“You told me he was a psychopath and that we shouldn’t trust him,” she deadpans. “You’d really start trusting him now?”

 

I know that she’s right, that it’s foolish to get my hopes up. It’s even more foolish— dangerous, even— to put those hopes into that man, but I’m all out of options at this point; if the sun is what Cosima desires, then the sun is what I’ll give her.

 

“If it’ll make you happy, then yes,” I confess. “I’ll do anything.”

 

Her lips part and the smallest, most minute gasp escapes. It’s so faint I almost miss it, but her eyes gleam and I realize that my words are not as impotent as I may have once believed. Regardless of how hard she fights back against me, there’s definitely a part of her that still bears some tenderness for us, or at the very least, for what we were and all we had. I swallow my own swell of unresolved emotions and shift the conversation.

 

“I know we’ve been over this before, but… do you remember _anything_ else from that night?” I ask. “Anything _before?”_

 

I’ve only questioned her once about the events that transpired on that night before I arrived just in time to turn her. She had been reasonably upset that I even brought it up at all, dismissing the conversation and my suspicions as quickly as possible. I’ve avoided bringing it up again out of fear of rocking this very fragile boat of cooperation between us.

 

“I already told you. The last thing I remember is you leaving just before dawn,” she says firmly, shaking her head to emphasize her point.

 

I nod slowly in understanding, a frown emerging. Cosima’s story hasn’t changed at all, her memories of that night have not returned to her even after a lapse of time. I was hoping that she’d eventually gain at least a little clarity by now, that she’d be able to recall even the smallest detail that could point me in the direction of her assailant, but it looks as though my hopes will never be fulfilled. 

 

Even still, I cannot fight the sneaking suspicion that Aldous is involved.

 

“You said it yourself— we can’t go out in the sun,” Cosima reiterates, quickly figuring out where my thoughts are leading. “Your asshole sire couldn’t have done whatever you think he did. He’d be a pile of dust, right?”

 

I had come to the same conclusion myself initially, believing that there was no way Aldous could have carried out the act. I never doubted that he had some sort of involvement— the suddenness of his appearance and the subsequent attack were just far too convenient to be a coincidence.

 

“But what if he was right? What if he’s finally found a way to somehow neutralize the sun’s rays?” I counter.

 

_Could this have been his game all along?_

 

He had told me it was possible, that he could make the sun a reality if I returned to him. Was Cosima the key piece of the puzzle— his way of forcing me back to him after all? He knows I’d do anything for her which is why I’m convinced that there’s a much deeper conspiracy at play.

 

“I don’t remember an old guy shivving me,” Cosima mutters.

 

“Yes, but what if he made you forget?”

 

Realization strikes her and the fear sinks in, bleeding out into her features until her entire face seems paler and almost gaunt beneath the weight of her discovery; she’s slowly beginning to piece together the mystery for herself and drawing closer to the same conclusion that I’ve been forced to consider.

 

“Do you really think— but… _why?”_ she asks, struggling to speak.

 

She’s shaking now and I sigh deeply, fully.

 

“I don’t know. To get back at me, maybe?” I offer. “To force me to turn you?”

 

Had Aldous anticipated my actions? Did he really know that I would turn Cosima even after I had been adamant about preserving her humanity? Two answers come to mind— he either wanted her dead as some sort of retribution, to make me pay for leaving him and turning down his offer, or he wanted me to turn her all along and decided to force my hand by striking first. 

 

I chew my lower lip, my head bowed and brow furrowed as I digest this information. 

 

“So I’m just collateral damage, huh?”

 

I look up to see that her trembling has gotten even worse, that her jaw is clenched so tightly I’m afraid the neat rows of pearls lining her mouth will shatter beneath the pressure, that her bones will bend and crack as rage surges through her.

 

_“Just some fucking pawn in your power play?”_

 

I can feel the shift in the air, feel the temperature in the apartment drop and the static crackle as her fangs slowly expand and her eyes ooze black again.

 

“Cosima—”

 

“Stop it.”

 

I quickly close my mouth, knowing better than to challenge her at this point. The pain behind her epiphany, the accompanying anger and sense of betrayal have pushed her beyond the realm of reason.

 

“I _knew_ it,” she spits, her glare digging into the depths of my soulless, heartless chest. “Ever since you came into my life, it’s been one giant, fucking disaster after another.”

 

My nostrils flare, my lower lip trembles very subtly, but I cannot protest. 

 

She’s right, after all.

 

As much as it kills me all over again to admit it, I know she’s right; while her presence in my life has brought me nothing but joy and warmth, all I’ve been able to give to her in return is heartbreak— is a night that never ends to match the nightmare I’ve inflicted upon her.

 

“I never asked for any of this! I didn’t want any of this shit!” she shouts, her throat raw and voice strained. “I just… I just wanted _you._ ” 

 

She laughs at her own punchline.

 

“Stupid, huh?”

 

I swallow hard, unsure of how to answer, of what she wants to hear versus what she needs to hear. She stares at me with large, gaping, swirling eyes which prompt me to speak out against my reservations.

 

“No,” I say simply, my voice hushed. “It’s not stupid.”

 

Her face contorts into some indecipherable expression, hovering unsteadily somewhere between a smile and a grimace, between strain and release— between being relieved to hear my words yet being too weary to accept them. She makes a move for the bedroom door again and I extend my arm to block her path.

 

“I wanted you, too,” I swear, meeting her gaze. “I _still_ want you. I always will.”

 

She laughs again, shaking her head as she brings a hand to her face to rub away the wash of emotions which flood her. She watches me, hand over her mouth, lashes fluttering as she struggles with her own response.

 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for this. I don’t know if I _can.”_

 

Her confession is crushing, but the most honest words I’ve heard leave her mouth in far too long. 

 

I nod, accepting them.

 

“I know.”

 

My arm drops down to my side, removing my roadblock and granting her free passage. Instead of immediately seizing the opportunity, she lingers for a moment to gauge my reaction and there’s a brief, wordless exchange between us. When she does finally find the will to move again, I watch her as she steps through the threshold.

 

“I miss you.”

 

The words escape on impulse and I almost regret uttering them, but she pauses for the shortest second upon hearing them. Despite her back being turned, I can see her body stiffen, I can feel her expression shift before continues on her way, closing the door gently behind her.

 


	18. XVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Happy OB day! Despite all the bullshit that’s been going on in the fandom (I can’t say I’m entirely happy with how things have been going down, either), I decided to focus on the positive and post the next chapter today. Just a heads up, this chapter is **NSFW**. Hope you can all find some satisfaction in it ;) Shoutout to **mmrae** over on Tumblr for their continued support over on my **Patreon** page. As always, your love and support is much appreciated.

I awake with a terrible jolt, my body springing forward until I’m sitting upright on the sofa, my stomach twisting and churning with an anxiety I cannot immediately identify through the fogginess of sleep that still clings to my mind. My eyes dart around the quiet living room— _the eerily silent apartment_ — and it’s then that the fogginess subsides.

 

“Cosima?” I call out to her in a panic.

 

No response.

 

I reach over to retrieve my cell phone to check the time, but the device is switched off and I quickly press the “on” button, impatience simmering as I wait for it to load. My anxiety only deepens when I’m rewarded by the time and I realize that the sun has been down for hours now. I’m on my feet in an instant, rushing into the bedroom only to be greeted by an empty bed, the alarm clock unplugged from the wall.

 

_“Merde.”_

 

I hastily change out of my sleeping clothes and into something more appropriate, stifling the strange mix of rage and fear I feel tugging at my bones. Despite our numerous arguments of varying magnitudes over the course of her transition, Cosima has never been bold enough to try something like _this_ before— purposely sabotaging me so she can joyride through the city unchaperoned. Knowing her and knowing her need to feed, she’s most likely ventured into the very heart of the night; crowded bars and clubs are our usual hunting ground, full with the promise of an easy meal and the ability to slip in and out unnoticed. However, without me present, she’s far more hindered than she could ever imagine.

 

What happens if she can’t control herself?

 

What happens if she takes too much and ends up killing someone?

 

What happens when I’m not there to make everyone forget, to clean up her mess in time?

 

The front door slams behind me as I bolt through the night, racing downtown in a blur of superhuman speed. There are a slew of popular bars and clubs all within the radius of a few blocks, all densely populated with young and intoxicated people just ripe for the picking. I know I’ll find her lurking somewhere in the background eyeing her next meal, though it’s impossible for me to know exactly _where_ she is with so many scents clashing and conflicting with one another.

 

I start with one of our favourites— a crowded but always lively club called “Mynt.” It isn’t the stellar company or the watered down drinks that have pulled us back on numerous occasions, but rather the steady flow of people constantly moving through the door; it’s entirely possible to spend a whole evening posted at the modest bar, carefully picking out targets. By the time Cosima’s had her fill with one, there are a hundred fresh faces on the dance floor, an entirely new flock to choose from. With so many people coming and going amongst the pulsating darkness, nobody bothers to ask questions or look a little closer when someone suddenly disappears. 

 

As I’ve done so many times before, I find my way to the bar and from there, I carefully scour the space for any signs of Cosima. I see no sign of her, but I circle the dance floor twice just to be sure before I leave and continue on with my search elsewhere.

 

The panic in me builds as I shuffle down the crowded street, dodging hordes of buffoons as I try to determine where to search next. There are a few other favourites I know she’d be tempted to visit, but then perhaps she is purposely avoiding them because she knows they’ll be the first places I search. I halt in the middle of the sidewalk, my hands ball into tight fists as I wrack my mind for some sort of solution, a more efficient approach to locating her. 

 

For all I know, there could already be a handful of corpses stuffed away somewhere.

 

_I don’t have time to falter._

 

“Man, this is such bullshit! Like they’d really turn _us_ away!”

 

The high-pitched voice catches my attention amongst the sea of noise and I turn to locate a group of four girls stumbling towards me, their heels clicking loudly against the concrete. 

 

“Capacity my ass!” another one slurs. “I _knew_ we should have got there early!”

 

I narrowly sidestep the stumbling crew and with an arched brow, I proceed in the direction they came from. It doesn’t take me long to locate the source of their anger— another club with a line of people nearly expanding the street, wrapping around the side of the building. The large posters displayed along the side of the building indicate that some sort of special event is occurring tonight and without a second thought, I bypass the entire line and head straight for the bouncer to cast my spell, ignoring the glares and jeers I receive when I’m permitted entry without a hassle.

 

_She must be here._

 

A club on a night like tonight— full to capacity with a party in swing— is the perfect hunting ground for her. Not only that, but if memory serves me correct, this particular club also has three floors and a very private, very grandiose VIP lounge.

 

The second I step through the door, the sound of a loud, pulsating beat washes over me and I’m silently thankful that I no longer require oxygen to survive, as the air is hot and thick and tinged with smoke from one of those insufferable fog machines, making it nearly impossible to breathe. While I prefer more quiet and inconspicuous bars where I an enjoy my drinks without being bothered, Cosima has always gravitated towards this sort of atmosphere; crowded clubs with blaring music, where sweaty bodies grind up against each other as they move to the beat. She’s a wonderful dancer so I shouldn’t be all that surprised that she’d find such a place to be fun. I remember the night out we had with her friends, the way her body rolled with such grace and finesse that even the ocean would twist green with envy.

 

It’s almost impossible to move with so many bodies pressed together, but I somehow manage to squirm through the masses and reach the first flight of stairs, following them all the way up to the second level. From here, I’m awarded a much more advantageous vantage point and I scan the crowded dance floor below, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. My superior vision allows me to see through the darkness with ease, but it’s still difficult to pick her out with the sheer volume of people all mashed and moving together.

 

“What are you doing here all alone, beautiful? Why don’t you come dance.”

 

A foolish boy slides up next to me, leaning back against the metal rail I’m currently leaning against myself. He flashes me a toothy grin and I glare, tempted to push him over the damn rail and watch him plummet towards the crowd below.

 

_“Leave,”_ I growl, not a hint of patience in my voice.

 

He cowers like a dog, quickly scampering away while mumbling something beneath his breath. I turn my attention back towards the dance floor and after a few more minutes, I release a frustrated sigh, still unable to find her. I do a once over of the second and third levels, as well, which are slightly less crowded than the main floor.

 

Still no sign of her.

 

I think that maybe I’m wrong, maybe she isn’t here at all, but then a lightbulb suddenly flashes on in my head and I remember the VIP lounge that I’ve yet to search.

 

_Of course._

 

I venture over to the next flight of stairs, pulling myself up to the third level. On the far side I see two men in black shirts working security in front of the door to the VIP lounge and I saunter over to them, forcing a smile as I approach.

 

“This area is VIP only,” the dark-skinned man says, stopping me in my tracks.

 

My smile widens, I place a hand on his chest and gently run my fingers along the toned muscles I find.

 

“Am I not important enough?” I counter, my eyes locking with his and casting my spell.

 

“Of course you are,” he answers almost instantaneously, backing away.

 

“The lounge is already occupied,” the other man speaks up a little more gruffly. “Unless you’re here for the show, too.”

 

I turn to him next.

 

“Oh yes,” I nod.

 

His harsh exterior melts, a smirk shining through.

 

“Damn. Dreadlocks must have some serious game.”

 

My body freezes up, even as the man steps aside and the door is left unguarded. I know I should be relieved that my suspicions are correct, that Cosima is here, but I find myself not knowing exactly what I should expect as I push through the door and travel down a short corridor before I arrive at another one.

 

A loud moan rips out from the other side.

 

On instinct, I race through the door and stop dead in my tracks when I find a young, blonde woman sprawled out on one of the leather couches, her dress hiked up to her waist and Cosima propped between her bare thighs, showering the expanse of flesh with wet kisses. The girl gasps when she notices my presence and panic flashes across her face.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Cosima looks up and the second recognition flashes across her face, I’m pulling her off the girl and throwing her across the room. She snarls as she hits the wall and the blonde cries out, clearly mortified by what’s happening.

 

“Geez! What’s your problem, lady?” she asks, sitting up and pulling her dress back down.

 

I can feel my shift fast approaching, I can feel Cosima’s eyes glaring a hole through me as her own shift begins to take her.  


“Go. _Now,”_ I bark at the girl.

 

Before she sees too much.

 

She doesn’t protest, grabbing her purse off the floor and scurrying away, slamming the door shut behind her and leaving us alone. We take a brief moment to stare each other down, our fangs extended and chests rumbling. When I see a smirk slide across her face, I’m tempted to lash out again.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I seethe.

 

She laughs, picking herself up off the floor. She smoothes out the front of her form-fitting dress, my eyes never leaving her as she slowly approaches.

 

“Whatever I want,” she shrugs. “That’s what we do, right?”

 

My jaw clenches more tightly than before, my body nearly quaking with rage. She seems pleased by my reaction as she brushes by me, making her way towards the private bar across the room. She finds herself an expensive bottle of vodka, pouring herself a shot and throwing her head back to drain the contents of the glass.

 

“Stop being childish,” I snap at her.

 

Thoughts of her and the blonde flood my mind; the girl appeared to be unharmed as I didn’t notice any blood or bite marks, but instead of finding relief in that knowledge, I feel nauseated in knowing that it wasn’t solely her blood Cosima was after.

 

“What? I’m being childish now?” Cosima throws back my way, turning around to face me while leaning back against the bar. “Wanting to feed and fuck and actually have some fun suddenly makes me a child?”

 

My nostrils flare.

 

“This behaviour is unacceptable.”

 

Her smirk only widens.

 

“Are you _jealous_? Is that it?”

 

I growl, attempting to smother her assessment before she realizes the power she holds in her hands and decides to run wild with it. My best attempt to look threatening doesn’t seem to faze her though, as she’s sliding off the bar and walking closer.

 

“You totally are,” she laughs. “You know I would have fucked that girl if you didn’t come.”

 

“I know you would have _killed_ that girl,” I correct her. “And then we’d both have a major problem on our hands.”

 

To be honest, it’s a combination of both of our assessments that has me in a spin. She slips in dangerously close, her face mere inches from mine as she continues to knowingly tease and toy with my emotions. 

 

“Oh, please. You said it yourself— I’ve gotten good at the control thing.”

 

“Good, yes,” I agree. “Not perfect.”

 

She scoffs, turning to pull away from me again. I quickly catch her arm, keeping her close and meeting her gaze with a hardness of my own.

 

“And until you are, I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

 

Her anger resurfaces and it’s her turn to lash out against me. She violently rips her arm from my grasp, her voice low and wavering.

 

“You don’t own me, you know,” she spits. “You may have sired me or whatever, but I’m not yours. I don’t answer to you.”

 

She stalks back over to the bar and I sigh, scrubbing my face with my hand in an exhaustive manner. I had thought she’d finally managed to let go of her anger towards me over the whole situation, or that she’d at least come to accept it; our conversations were growing longer and less heated, it seemed as though we were finally reaching an understanding, but now here she is deliberately defying me out of pure pettiness.

 

“I really don’t have the time or the patience for your rebellious, childish tantrums,” I sigh.

 

The bottle of vodka comes flying in my direction and I quickly side-step it as it smashes into the far wall, making a mess of glass shards and alcohol.

 

“And whose fault is that?” she shouts. “If you didn’t want to accept responsibility, you shouldn’t have turned me!”

 

I put my foot down, standing firm and tall against her outburst. 

 

“I _am_ accepting responsibility! What do you think I’m doing now? What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” I throw back in her face. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe this entire time and you’ve been fighting me every step of the way!”

 

Perhaps it’s unwise to lose my temper with her, but my patience is completely worn at this point. I think that maybe this has been her goal all along from the very second she covertly switched off all the alarms in the apartment and slipped out undetected— to rouse my anger and jealousy, to elicit such an extreme reaction. I can’t imagine why she’d want something like this, but I swear I see some strange semblance of relief upon her features, amongst the smoke and fire.

 

“Certainly death hasn’t affected your mental capabilities, has it?” I jab.

 

“Fuck you!”

 

We’re back to square one again with her taking a swing at me. I easily duck her attack and when she throws another punch, I catch her fist and hold it, squeezing tightly. It isn’t enough to seriously harm her, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she feels the bite of pain as she struggles to free herself from my impossibly strong grip.

 

“Perhaps I’m right. Perhaps death _has_ affected your intelligence. You seem to keep forgetting what happens every time you challenge me.”

 

She throws yet another punch with her free arm and I catch this one quite easily, too. She tries to pull herself free but I hold her still, smirking down at her as she snarls at my cockiness.

 

“Perhaps you need yet another lesson.”

 

I slam her hard into the ground like a sack of flour, the act stunning her. It’s not enough to really hurt or incapacitate her, but it emphasizes my superiority over her. Instead of staying down and accepting defeat, she attempts to spring up and lunge at me, only I’m faster and she’s flat on her back again with me pinning her to the ground before she even realizes what’s happened.

 

“Are we finished yet?” I push, my face alarmingly close to hers as I assert my dominance. “Because I—”

 

Her lips crash against mine, successfully severing all communication between my brain and my mouth. Even from the advantageous position, I’m caught off guard by the gesture as she cranes her neck upwards and presses into me with all the strength she can muster. It doesn’t take me long, maybe half a second before I’m responding to her kiss with all the eagerness of a woman starved.

 

Her hands roughly push against my chest, forcing me off of her. I stumble backwards, regaining my footing as she jumps to her feet again, staring me down with dark, hooded eyes. Neither of us make an immediate move, but I can taste the electricity that’s shooting between us.

 

I’m unable to resist its call.

 

It draws me to her and instead of being met by more resistance, she welcomes me in by wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me as close as possible as her back slams against the wall and I press against her, our lips fastened to each other.

 

I realize that perhaps my excitement and desperation are getting the better of me, but I’m unable to fight the call. My hands are already hiking up her dress and we’re both growling as I trace the length of her thigh before settling just below her center. I tear my lips away from her plundering mouth and her head falls back, exposing her neck to me.

 

She may no longer be human, but I will always crave the taste of her. Even if it bears the promise of madness, how bad could it truly be? Certainly no worse than being without her. I plunge my fangs into her neck and a moan tears through her as I drink with a fearless vigour; there’s no question of me draining her dry this time, of drinking the life out of her. I take and take as she bucks her hips against my own, desperate for more contact.

 

“Delphine,” she whimpers, holding me to her, cradling my head to her neck as she’s done so many times before.

 

“Is this how you want it?”

 

I unroot my fangs, lapping away at the stain of red on her neck before my hand cups her sex through her panties. She moans again as I stroke her through the fabric a few times, my own arousal peaking at the touch of her heat.

 

“Tell me,” I urge.

 

I rip the scrap of cloth from her body and she shudders. Before she has a chance to answer my question I gather her in my arms, throwing her onto the bar. Bottles fall and shatter beneath us as we clear the surface completely.

 

“Is this what you need?” I ask her again.

 

She stares up at me with parted lips, with a stunned expression as I rip away the straps of her dress and peel the fabric down her body to expose her ample breasts. She groans as I take a perky nipple in my mouth, sucking greedily and biting hard. She gasps, arching into the pain of my bite, the sweet torment of my mouth.

 

“Yes,” she hisses, tugging at my blouse.

 

She’s just as careless in her disrobing, ripping away at the fabric as buttons scatter everywhere. I shed the blouse and then make quick work of my bra, delighting in the feel of our skin pressed together, breast-to-breast.

 

“Whatever you need,” I whisper harshly into her ear as my hand inches lower to find her dripping sex. “I’ll give it to you.”

 

My words hold many promises as my fingers slide into her. 

 

We both cry out as I sink deeper into her sweetness and she stretches to accommodate me. She spreads herself wider and drags her nails down the plains of my back, tugging an elongated groan from the very depths of my chest.

 

“I’ll give you everything, Cosima,” I pant, my thrusts quickening.

 

Her eyes slam shut as I take her harder than I ever have before, knowing she can handle me at last. And as I give, I’m rewarded with a symphony of sighs in return, with the dig of her nails and the bucking of her hips as they rise to meet me thrust-for-thrust. The bar rocks beneath us, the bottles still housed under the counter rattling and rolling out onto the floor. I think it might shatter beneath the force of us, but I hardly care— especially when I feel her fangs sink into my neck and the drip of my own blood fill the chamber of her mouth.

 

_A baptism of blood._

 

I wonder if everything that’s come before, all of the anger and heartbreak, have been leading up this this very moment, to the two of us rediscovering each other in a new way. She doesn’t seem so angry or difficult beneath my practiced touch, she doesn’t seem so distant. My arousal only deepens when my lashes flutter and my mind is bombarded with a series of incoherent thoughts and feelings— _her_ thoughts and _her_ feelings— which settle deep into the pit of my stomach.

 

It dawns on me that there’s a transference occurring between us.

 

Never have I fed from another of my kind before and never has another fed from me before her. I’ve often heard tales that such a feat is possible— a temporary connection that’s established when blood is shared amongst two of us— but I can’t say I’ve ever been tempted to test the validity of such a myth. However, I feel the heat of Cosima’s own desire flooding me completely, mixing with my own and overpowering everything else. When I gaze down at her, I can tell by her expression that she’s experiencing the very same thing— that not only is she feeling the depths of my desire for her full force, but the intensity of my devotion towards her.

 

_The limitless extent of my love._

 

We both moan loudly and even though she’s barely touched me, even though my pants are still on, I feel my own release building— a shared release. She slips her fingers into my curls and pulls my face closer.

 

“Kiss me,” she pleads.

 

I oblige, bringing our lips together as we’re both caught up in and swept away by a blinding, deafening, blistering wave of pleasure that carries us closer to the sun than either of has ever been before, human lives included.

 


	19. XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Once again, this chapter gets a NSFW rating. But aside from the smut, there is some plot development here, so yay for that! I hope you guys enjoy and once again, thank you all for your continued support.

As I’ve learned in the many months that I’ve been denied her affection, I know that it is entirely possible to be love-starved. However, as she trembles beneath me with canting hips, as she coos her sweet terms of endearment that I’ve yearned to hear for far too long, I wonder if it is possible to be love-gorged— to be so full, so completely saturated with warmth and contentment that I may burst apart at any given moment.

 

I remove my mouth from her warmth to flip her around onto her stomach and she whines momentarily before I’m drawing her up onto all fours in front of me, sliding into her from behind and replacing her whine with a drawn-out groan. I’ve taken her so many times already in these past twelve hours that I’m eager to keep our spark alive, to live out these desires we’ve both been denied; now that she possesses the stamina to match my own ravenous hunger, I’m determined to have her in every way that I can, knowing she can handle my overzealous attention. 

 

She seems determined to recognize this vision, as well.

 

She slams herself back against me, the sound of her flesh slapping hard against me, the round of her ass pressing against my own sex and grinding hard. I shudder, leaning into her body and forcing her down onto the mattress. I pepper the back of her neck with wet kisses, pushing her braids aside and allowing my fangs to scrape over her flesh.

 

“Arch,” I growl, tugging a fistful of her braids for good measure.

 

She does as I command, arching her back and holding the weight of her upper-half with her extended arms. I release her hair and slide my hand down to her waist, drawing her back onto her knees so that I can find a better angle.

 

_“Fuck,”_ she hisses, her head dropping low.

 

I continue to thrust into her with all the vigour of a rainstorm, swiping my thumb over her budding clit before encircling it. She’s so wet that it’s hard for me to catch the sensitive little nub but when I do, some direct pressure is all it takes and she crumbles beneath me, her sex squeezing around my fingers. She buries her face in one of my pillows but the barrier isn’t thick enough to smother the strangely primal sound that tears from her throat. I feel a gentle spray of heat escape her, as well, coating my hand and trickling down the length of my arm, soaking the already damp sheets. 

 

I topple over onto her, pressed snuggly against her back with a satisfied grin as the smell of sex permeates my nostrils. 

 

“Jesus,” I hear her expel, tilting her head to the side so I can see her flawless face. “Why didn’t we just do that from the get-go?”

 

I laugh deeply, rolling over onto my side. 

 

“Seriously. The whole “blood-swapping” thing would have saved us a whole lot of time. Really puts things into perspective, you know?” she adds. “And the mind-blowing sex doesn’t hurt, either.”

 

She rolls herself over as well until she’s flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a flush in her cheeks that I haven’t seen since her human days. Maybe it’s my eyes deceiving me as the biology of it seems almost impossible, but there’s something about her that’s pure radiance, that violently clashes against all the truths I’ve come to accept in this strange world. 

 

“I seem to recall you denying my advances,” I retort, my brow arched. “Though I’ll remember that the next time you’re being petulant.”

 

She laughs this time, gently shaking her head as I lean over and shower her chest and stomach with the sweetest, most reverent kisses I can muster from my peasant lips. She runs a hand through my tresses, softly stroking my head just as she did before, encouraging my ministrations. 

 

If the world came to an end in this moment— if the oceans spilled over and flooded the land, submerging mountains and forests and all traces of life— if the Earth opened up and swallowed us whole— I would go contently.

 

I would go in peace, without a single care in the world.

 

“Come here.”

 

She guides my head up the length of her body until our lips are reunited and I feel the heat begin to stir in the pit of my belly all over again. I put up no resistance when she rolls us both over and quickly straddles me, a glint in her eyes.

 

“Again?” I ask, both surprised and impressed.

 

She shrugs, a smirk widening across her face.

 

“No?”

 

She swirls her hips for good measure, the act having its desired effect as my lids flutter and my eyes nearly roll back into my skull. She chuckles lightly, repeating the motion and guiding my hands to her hips.

 

“I thought you wanted me?” she goads.

 

Her voice is ripe with seduction, her smile laced with that wicked brand of playfulness that she alone perfectly encompasses. I surge forward and catch her slightly off guard. I watch as her eyes widen and then sparkle when I bring my lips to hover above her own, holding her steady in my lap. 

 

“Always,” I whisper.

 

I brush the plumpness of my lower lip between her parted ones, teasing at her upper lip until her tongue slips out to taste me. I draw back, refusing her the simple delight. Her fangs slowly unsheathe themselves and the sight of them is enough to beckon my own from their slumber.

 

“Good. Cause I’m not done,” she purrs, her hands sliding around the the back of my head and pulling me into a punishing kiss.

 

I’m uncertain of just how many more hours we spend indulging in one another, but by the time we finally part, night has fallen again and I know that her appetite is renewed. I’m not sure how much she fed last night before I arrived as we haven’t been able to pull ourselves away from each other long enough for me to ask that question, but it’s irrelevant at this point; I can tell by the look in her eyes as she lay outstretched in my bed like a cat basking in the sun’s rays, by the way she drags her tongue along the points of her fangs that remain extended even after our coupling, that her hunger has returned in full force. 

 

I’m sure our lovemaking has done nothing to help with this fact, either— the taste of fresh blood is always so much sweeter after hours of passion.

 

“You’re hungry,” I say, sliding out of bed.

 

“Well, you sorta interrupted my meal last night. And you’ve spent all day draining my energy,” she teases, her eyebrows wriggling and her tongue poking out from behind her teeth.

 

I nod in understanding, my smile a reserved one.

 

“Wait here,” I command. “I’ll bring you blood.”

 

Her demeanour shifts completely and her playfulness is lost, replaced by what appears to be anger and spite.

 

“I don’t need you feeding me like a baby,” she retorts, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and standing.

 

I nod again.

 

I can’t say that I didn’t expect such a response, though I had secretly hoped that our lovemaking would make her slightly less stubborn and a little more docile. Her flame burns bright as ever as she approaches me, her eyes narrowed and resolve unwavering.

 

“Fine,” I cede. “Then we’ll go together.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“This is the way it’s going to be from now on,” I interrupt, my sternness returning and stopping her before she has a chance to truly start. “If one of us should decide to hunt, we’ll hunt together.”

 

Her eyes scan my face, searching my expression for some sign of vulnerability, for something malleable enough for her to grab hold of and bend to her will. When she finds no such sign she backs down, realizing that we’re at a standstill yet again, neither one of us willing to compromise.

 

She craves independence, to regain the control that I took from her as I drained the last of her life from her neck. I could taste it in her blood last night, I could see it in the images that flashed behind my eyelids during our moment of transference just as she could taste my love for her, just as she could feel the need in me that runs so deep it borders on biological— the need to protect her, to make her happy and fulfill all of her wishes, to love her with all that I have.

 

She means to move by me on her way to the bathroom but I catch her wrist as she’s passing, holding her in place. Unlike before, there’s no sign of resistance. Rather, she waits patiently for me to explain myself, dark eyes watching me expectantly as if she knows what I might say and secretly aches to hear it.

 

“I know what I did was unforgivable,” I say, my voice quiet and gazed fixed upon her own as I begin. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope you will.”

 

I release her wrist and she shifts uncomfortably in place, her eyes narrowed and face ensnared in what appears to be some sort of internal conflict as she processes my words— my acknowledgement of failure. I realize now that in all of this time, we’ve yet to truly talk about… _it._ I realize now that I can make as many excuses as I want, that I can tell her I had no choice and that everything I did was for her well-being, but I’ve come to understand that this is not the truth.

 

Well.

 

Not entirely.

 

“The truth is that I’m selfish,” I finally admit. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for myself.”

 

I have to hold myself together, have to stop myself from nearly laughing at the relief I’m awarded when I finally utter the words.

 

“I did it because— because I couldn’t bare the thought of existing in a world without you.”

 

My words seem to have physical effect on her, as well. Her lips part, the lower one trembling ever-so-slightly.

 

“Even if it meant potentially stripping away your best parts, I still wanted some part of you to live on,” I continue, my voice becoming smaller and more fragile as each word escapes me.

 

I see her eyes glimmer and I can’t help myself.

 

I throw myself forward, embracing her fully. I wrap my arms around her tiny frame and hold her so tightly that for the first time in a long time, I feel grounded. She melts into my arms and I rest my chin atop the crown of her head, tucking her away from everything that isn’t us.

 

“I’m afraid, Cosima. I’m afraid to be without you. I’m afraid to be alone again,” I confess, feeling my swell of emotions finally burst. “You’re the only thing that’s made my life worth living at all.”

 

I feel wetness against the hollow of my throat, her tears marking me in such a way I can’t define. It’s different from her bite, though the sting is close enough and I feel its heat as it radiates through the rest of my body.

 

“I’m selfish and I’m afraid and I’m sorry that I’m not better, but I _do_ love you,” I swear, my voice hoarse as I feel my own tears stinging at my eyes. “I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

I pry myself away from her, allowing just enough distance between us for me to stare down at her and meet her eyes. She sniffles, trying to will away her tears but I invite them to stay— I invite all of her pain onto myself as penance. It takes all the strength I have left to keep myself from falling to my knees and with a weary expression, I cup her face in my hands and hold her head still, forcing her to keep my gaze.

 

“I’ll spend the next three hundred years proving this to you if I have to, but by the time I finally go in the ground, you _will_ know— I’ll make sure you know.”

 

She tilts her head to the side, bringing her lips to the palm of my hand and pressing a kiss to the flesh. I’m not sure of what to make of the gesture because before I have time to truly process it, she’s sliding out of my grasp again and continuing towards the bathroom. I watch her go with a furrowed brow and wet eyes and I open my mouth to speak, to question her, but the look in her eyes beckons me to follow and so I do.

 

I step through the doorway and my eyes fall upon her nude figure, distorted through the glass of the shower door. She tampers with the faucet, turning the water on and without even thinking, I step into the shower to join her. I intend to slip in quietly behind her, to wrap my arms around her slender frame, but she turns before I have a chance to envelop her and she slings an arm around my neck instead, drawing the two of us together. She brings her lips to my ear, kissing me softly and sending a shiver down my spine.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

I freeze, my eyes going wide as I pull back from her to stare upon her face.

 

“Sometimes I really wish I didn’t, but I do.”

 

She offers me a meek smile to emphasize her point and I’m so overcome with emotion that I can’t find the words to express myself, so I merely lunge at her in response, fastening my lips to hers. We both nearly lose our footing and go toppling over on the slippery shower floor, though I’m miraculously able to force her backwards until her back slams against the tiled wall and she expels a sound of mild surprise that I eagerly swallow. My hands find her wrists, pinning them to the wall above her head as my mouth plunders. 

 

It isn’t long before she tears her lips from mine, tilting her head to the side to escape my gluttonous mouth and I nearly cry out in agony at the loss of contact, though I silence myself instead by seeking refuge in her neck, kissing and sucking the slick skin I find.

 

“I’m starving, Delphine,” she groans, her voice as thick as the gathering steam. “I need to feed.”

 

Her words are a harsh reminder of our reality.

 

I know she’s right, that if I deny her blood any longer, the hunger pangs will settle in and their intensity will cripple her. Remembering the pain myself, I cannot knowingly subject her to such a fate and yet I can’t seem to abandon my pursuit of her either.

 

I can think of one solution.

 

“Then feed from me,” I groan, releasing her wrists and pulling back just enough to offer my neck to her.

 

“I thought you said that it was a bad idea? That it would make me crazy?” she counters, eyeing my skeptically.

 

“Then we’ll be crazy together,” I dismiss her.

 

I wait for her bite to come, for the sting of her fangs, but for the very first time, she hesitates. In a bid to encourage her, I slide my hands around to her backside and lift her effortlessly, forcing her to wrap her legs around my waist as I pin her back against the wall. I buck against her, inciting, though she doesn’t take my bait so easily.

 

“Seriously,” she says, placing her hands upon my shoulders.

 

When I look up at her, she shoots me a knowing look and I relent in my passion, instantly deflating.

 

“I know, I know,” I sigh, finally succumbing to the truth.

 

I’ve never been one to throw caution to the wind, but my desire for her is all-consuming. I should be terrified by the sheer intensity of it, but rather I embrace it like a long lost lover; as much as I had hoped and prayed and dreamt of hearing her utter those three words, a part of me was almost resigned to the fact that I most likely never would and so being confronted with them so fully and so abruptly has left me stricken and completely at their mercy.

 

“Fine. Let’s go and find you a meal,” I agree.

 

Her smile widens as I lower her back onto her feet and step away, granting her the illusion of space. She turns her back on me to reach for the body wash, to scrub away the remnants of our lovemaking, though the second she lets her guard down, I slip in close behind her once more and wrap my arms around her torso, drawing her in.

 

“And when you’re done feeding…,” I whisper, nipping at the shell of her ear and delighting in the shudder I’m granted. “I’ll fuck you till the sun burns out.”

 

She moans, abandoning her quest for the body wash on the caddy in front of her and leaning back into me.

 

“That’s a very long time,” she husks, playing along with my seduction.

 

She tips her head back, resting it upon my shoulder as her eyes slide shut and her lips are drawn into a smirk. My hands glide up her shower-slick body, over toned abs which tense beneath my ardent touch, until they reach her breasts. I hold the generous mounds in my hands, running my thumbs over the stiff, little peaks that beg for my attention. Even without sneaking my hand lower to inspect her desire, I can feel the heat that’s quickly pooling between her legs and a smirk of my own quickly grows to dominate my features as I begin teasing her nipples, rolling the dusky flesh between my thumbs and forefingers until she’s quivering in my hands once more.

 

“No need to worry, _ma cherie,_ ” I promise her. “We have nothing _but_ time.”

 

 

 


	20. XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** It’s finally here! This one took me way too long, but real life sort of got in the way. It’s a fairly long chapter, so I hope that makes up for it. Thank you all for your continued support, and thank you to @mmrae over on Tumblr for donating over on my Patreon page. But without further adieu, here it is.

“I thought you didn’t like to dance?” 

 

Her question comes with a glint of white and a flicker in her eyes as she pulls herself even closer to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to the hollow of my throat. My own smile grows while my hips continue to slowly gyrate, mimicking her movements so that our bodies grind against each other rather suggestively. This style of dancing is foreign to me, though strangely instinctual with primal undertones; the music— “tech house,” according to her earlier assessment— is beyond my understanding, though it isn’t difficult to anchor myself to the pulsating beat and allow it to flow through me. 

 

I know I must not look so awkward or out of place, for when my eyes dare to glance beyond her at all of the other bodies and couples scattered across the crowded basement, they all swing and sway in the very same manner and all anxiety surrounding standing out or making a fool of myself is quickly dashed.

 

“I’ll dance with you like _this_ ,” I tell her, my hands sliding down from her hips to plant themselves on the swell of her ass.

 

I give her a quick squeeze and I can feel her laughing against my throat, amused by my sudden enthusiasm. 

 

“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” she says. “Forget about ballrooms and waltzing and all that shit. There’s no room for prudes here.”

 

She’s certainly right about that. 

 

She had been the one to suggest this place, a grungy basement beneath a Korean restaurant that had been transformed into some sort of secret “rave,” as she called it. With the utterance of a single password, partygoers clad in colourful and outrageous outfits were led through a “secret” entrance in the back and down a flight of questionable stairs until they found themselves in a dark, musky room with a low ceiling and impressive audio setup that had been rigged for that singular engagement. Of course, neither of us required a password, only a little enchanting on our part to convince the stern-looking Asian man to permit us entry. 

 

I’ll admit, I had been uncomfortable at first as I watched plenty of young men and women consume copious amounts of drugs and alcohol, though my lover quickly put my mind at ease when she pressed herself against me and began to roll her hips in that way she does, becoming the very embodiment of the music. We’d both made sure to drink our fill earlier in the evening and with our hunger sated, all there is to focus on now is each other.

 

My smirk widens, my grip on her ass becoming more firm.

 

“Oh, I’m no prude.”

 

She pulls back from my neck for a moment to meet my gaze, something dark and mischievous glimmering in the depths of her eyes. 

 

I can tell from her look that the game is on now.

 

“Really?” she pushes. 

 

“ _Oui_.” 

 

For further emphasis, I slide one of my thighs between her own and feel her heat scald me even through the denim clinging tightly to my leg. A tremor rolls down her spine as she grinds herself against my thigh a little harder and I bring my lips to her ear, nipping softly at her lobe.

 

“Neither are you,” I purr. 

 

She laughs again.

 

“I can’t argue with you there.”

 

She reaches behind, finding one of my hands that’s still settled on the round of her ass and pulling it back around to slowly inch it lower until I find my fingers settled into the surprisingly slick oasis between her legs. I realize now that she’s completely bare beneath her dress and I find myself trying to stifle a moan as my fingers twitch through the welcoming heat.

 

I cannot be sure how much time we spend like that.

 

I cannot be sure if we’re even truly dancing anymore.

 

All I know is that we rock together for what seems like hours, until the crowd grows a little thinner and the threat of the soon-approaching daylight forces us to pull ourselves away from each other and gather our senses once more so we can make it home in time.

 

“This was fun,” she says, sliding her hand into mine as soon as we push through the door and are greeted by the brisk outside air. “I can’t remember the last time we just… _went out_. You know— did something together other than hunt.”

 

I hum in agreement.

 

There were moments at the beginning of the process when I thought we’d never be able to enjoy such simple pleasures together again, but as she continues to hone her control, I am filled with a burst of optimism; already she’s progressed far more quickly than I did, though this is most likely due to the fact that my repulsive sire allowed me to run wild for far too long before dropping me on Marion’s stoop to be house trained like some sort of dog. While Cosima is still quite a ways away from where she needs to be, I am able to appreciate her progress and take pride in the fact that I’ve had something to do with it, that I haven’t failed her completely.

 

“Now that you seem to be grasping the concept of control, we can enjoy some of our previous freedoms again,” I concur.

 

I remember all of her beloved science fiction movies she promised to show me and I imagine nights spent in, huddled up together on the couch watching them. I’ll have to buy a television first, but I know it’ll be worthy investment if it’ll bring her some comfort and us some semblance of normalcy. I think of the ice rink we visited before, of her dragging me across the ice until finally, after enough nights of practice, I’m finally able to skate on my own. I think of the trips we can take now— Paris, Madrid, Venice, Istanbul— all of the places we’d talked about visiting before and all of the wonders of the world I can now expose her to, that we can now experience together.

 

“As well as some new ones,” I add, finishing my thought.

 

“Yeah. Like the epic, super-powered sex.”

 

I laugh.

 

“Yes. That’s certainly one of them.”

 

She stops in her tracks, forcing me to do the same as she maintains her grip on my hand. When I stare down at her with a minor bout of confusion, I’m met once again by that mischievous glint in her eyes.

 

“Good. Cause there’s something I wanted to ask you— something I’ve been wanting to try…”

 

There’s a tinge of innocence to her voice, an almost childlike playfulness in the way she gently swings our linked hands through the air. Her mannerisms stand in stark contrast to the wickedness in her eyes and I know better than to fall for her facade, picking up on the way she oh so carefully stops herself from revealing too much— a deliberate tactic on her part to pique my curiosity.

 

“Oh?” I indulge her, a single brow arching.

 

A cat-like grin stretches across her face.

 

“Since you’re _so_ not a prude, I figured you might be into it, too,” she retorts, her voice growing deeper and huskier with each word.

 

I have a few suspicions, a few scenarios floating around in my head; at this point, there’s only a handful of things we haven’t tried and with some simple deductive reasoning, I think I’m able to piece together what she’s implying even before I hear the words.

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

I want to hear her say it.

 

I wait for her to set me off again, like a match to a fuze— to set me aflame in that way only she knows how. With a cocky smirk, she leans in closer until her lips are hovering over my own, purposely avoiding any real contact. I instinctively lick my lips, full of fire and anticipation, but when I tilt my head forward just the slightest bit to find hers, she pulls away again.

 

“I’ll tell you _all_ about it when we get home.”

 

My lids flutter as she treads backwards away from me, purposely maintaining eye contact while she places more space between us. I know this is a part of her game or else she wouldn’t dare me to close the growing gap with that hungry gaze of hers, beckoning me towards her like a lighthouse through the storm.

 

“When we get home?” I counter.

 

I finally regain control of my body, stalking towards her in long, purposeful strides.

 

“Mmhmm,” she nods.

 

I’m on her in a flash, sucking both a gasp of surprise and a giggle from her as I force her back against the hard wall of the nearest building.

 

“No,” I growl, my hands finding her wrists and pinning them above her head while my lips graze her own. “Right here.”

 

I know we should be heading home now, but I reckon I have just enough time left to play with her, to tease her a little longer as she's been teasing me all night. She doesn’t seem too upset with my sudden display of aggression, either. In fact, I’m fairly certain she’s been expecting it, that it’s been her goal all along.

 

“Well. I guess I’m not the only one who thought it’d be a lovely evening for a night out on the town.”

 

The voice pierces through the silence of the bleeding night, paralyzing the both of us for an infinitely long second. Without turning around, without acknowledging their presence at all, I already who stands behind us.

 

“Hello again, Delphine.”

 

Finally, I withdraw my attention from a confused and slightly shaken Cosima to turn around and face him, boiling over at the very sight of that smug and disgustingly familiar face.

 

“I’ve been waiting to hear back from you for a while now,” Aldous adds, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 

I feel my vision blur and the ground beneath me shift. Seeing him again, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he is, in fact, the one responsible for Cosima’s death. I can feel it in my bones, screeching and crackling and in an admittedly uncharacteristic move, I abandon all reason and lunge at the man in a fury.

 

He grabs me by the throat before I can get very far.

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds, pinning me against the wall of the storefront.

 

I struggle against him for a moment, squeezing his extended forearm as tightly as I can in a bid to inflict even the smallest hint of pain, but he’s simply too strong for me to handle. Sensing this, Cosima bares her fangs and expels a harsh growl. My eyes widen in fear as I watch her lunge towards us.

 

With just as minimal effort, Aldous manages to grab her by the throat, as well. While he continues to pin me back with one hand, his grip around her throat tightens and he lifts Cosima off the ground until she’s dangling in the air, clawing at his hands for freedom.

 

“Let her go!” I manage to cry out, despite the crushing pressure on my voice box.

 

He ignores me, his eyes squarely focused on her defiant face. She's in no danger from lack of oxygen, though we all know he could easily crush her windpipe and cause an excruciating amount of pain.

 

“And _you,”_ he drawls, almost pleased as he inspects her. “You’re looking well.”

 

She lets out another growl, fangs exposed and eyes a dangerous shade of black. She thrashes against his grip, trying desperately to free herself and put an end to my centuries-long tormentor.

 

“Cosima, don’t!”

 

I try to warn her not to goad him, to accept defeat and save herself the trouble. If Aldous had wanted us dead, I’m certain we’d both be long gone by now and after both of our failed attempts at revenge, reason returns to me.

 

“It seems you take after your mentor,” he laughs in her face.

 

I can tell he’s only fuelling her rage, but she stares beyond him to find my face, to search my eyes for some sort of answer. She must see the fear that’s written in them and realize how hopeless our situation is, as well, for she finally stops struggling.

 

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

 

He releases me first, slowly backing away and giving me a little space.

 

“By now you both realize that I could easily dispatch the two of you if I wanted, so why don’t we just…”

 

He releases Cosima next, setting her down gently until her feet touch the ground. As soon as his grip is loose enough, she pulls herself away and I dart over to her, placing myself between the two, great titans that have shaped my life.

 

“You… you did _this!”_ I roar.

 

My accusation has little effect on him.

 

He merely shrugs.

 

_“_ If I’m to be completely honest, I didn’t quite expect things to turn out this way,” he admits.

 

He takes a step closer to us and we both instinctively backpedal, not allowing him another inch of nearness.

 

“I intended to kill her to make a very bold statement,” he explains, his fangs pointed and glistening from behind his repulsive smile. “You were so adamant about preserving her humanity, you actually convinced me that you wouldn’t go ahead with turning her. I guess your conviction wasn’t as strong as you believed.”

 

My nostrils flare, I feel another surge of rage that nearly propels me forward, but this time it’s Cosima who stops me with an arm wrapped around my own, keeping me close to her. Her soft yet uncertain touch reminds me of my great priority— keeping Cosima safe, keeping both of us alive.

 

Aldous laughs.

 

“Don’t be angry, Delphine,” he tries to convince me. “Don’t you see? Everything turned out for the best— you get to keep Cosima forever and by forcing your hand, I’ve gone ahead and relieved you of your guilt.”

 

_If only it were that simple._

 

I feel Cosima’s grip on my arm tighten.

 

“You think this is what I wanted?” she speaks up, her voice low and wavering.

 

“You’re still too young to know what you want, but as you work your way through this world, you’ll come to see— come to understand the gift that you’ve been given,” he addresses her.

 

“Eat shit.”

 

If I wasn’t so unsettled, I would laugh at her brashness.

 

Aldous does.

 

“She’s sassy. I see why you like her.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, of increased tenseness, but with a sharp clap of his hands, he disperses it.

 

“Enough. Let’s get down to business,” he announces. “I suspect you know why I’m here?”

 

He straightens his blazer, walking closer to us. Realizing that there’s nowhere left to run, no more space to maintain our distance, I allow him to approach us while very consciously keeping Cosima behind me, one of my hands holding her back in a defensive manner.

 

“My offer still stands,” he says, circling back to our previous conversation.

 

It’s been many months since then, though the meeting is still fresh in my mind. My initial feelings of rage and disgust haven’t subsided, either.

 

“And what makes you think I’m any more inclined to accept it this time?” I toss back.

 

His sigh is a deep and exasperated one, like a father who must explain himself to his unruly child yet again.

 

“Delphine, I’m giving you an out— I’m giving _both of you_ an out!” he says with a burst of passion. “There’s a place for the both of you at DYAD. You have the chance to be an integral part of our future!”

 

Once again, his words fall on my deaf ears.

 

Years ago, a part of me believed his sermon, at least enough so that I was willing to work alongside him in the name of “scientific advancement.” I had been young and oh so curious, unable to abandon my natural inclination towards the sciences. I had wanted to unlock these mysteries, as well, only I learned while working alongside that man that there were certain limits; while Aldous is uncompromising, willing to do whatever it takes in the name of progress, I came to learn that there are certain lines I cannot bring myself to cross— that the ends do not, in fact, justify the means. After years of abuse, after years of his manipulation, it was this realization that served as my final push; with Marion’s help, I abandoned Aldous and DYAD, abandoned everything of my life before and took up solitude. I fled half a world away and vowed to never involve myself in such monstrous activities ever again.

 

“Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into her, Cosima. She seems to listen to you.”

 

He tries to gaze beyond me, to make some sort of connection with her, but I stand firmly in his way. I will not allow her to become ensnared in his lies.

 

“Our species is the future. We’ve become more than simple humans. We’ve become the inheritors of the Earth,” he spiels. “With all of our most brilliant minds working towards a common goal, we can accomplish more than any who’ve come before us.”

 

Cosima steps out from behind me and a nervousness settles in my stomach. She gives me a reassuring look before walking closer to Aldous, willing and able to go head-to-head with the man in a way I’ve never been able to myself.

 

I’m envious.

 

Envious and fiercely proud.

 

“Why? To what end?” she asks him.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“You’re so naive,” he dismisses her.

 

“But what’s the point?” she presses onward. “You want to, like, take over the world? Why?”

 

His expression shifts, he sheds his charming disposition in favour of a more serious one.

 

“Humans have failed. In every way possible,” he says simply. “They’ve failed this planet, they’ve failed history, they’ve failed each other, and if we let them continue, they’ll keep failing until there’s nothing left. I’ve seen it with my own eyes— for nearly a millennium, I’ve watched them fall over and over and over.”

 

“And what makes you think we’d do any better?” she challenges him.

 

“We possess the skill and abilities they lack.”

 

Her mouth parts very subtly, a tiny gasp escaping. She stares at him in awe, her eyes drinking in the creature standing before her. He seems pleased with himself and her reaction, sure in the knowledge that she’s finally beginning to see things from his perspective— that is, until a loud and incredulous laugh tears through her and sucks all the smugness from his face.

 

“You’re so full of shit,” she scoffs.

 

His eyes narrow and his mouth twists into a frown. I know the look all too well, know that he’s trying to maintain his composure while his patience wanes and his anger only grows.

 

“This has nothing to do with “the future.” This is about _you,”_ she says matter-of-factly. “You’re a megalomaniac— you don’t care about building a better future. You just want to stand at the very top so you can look down at everyone else. You just want to feel like a God— and any future where you’d be considered a God is a pretty fucking hollow one.”

 

He moves too quickly even for my own eyes.

 

His hand is on her throat again, grabbing her roughly and hoisting her into the air above him where he holds her like some sadistic predator toying with his prey.

 

“No! Let her go!” I cry out, rushing to her defence.

 

He bats me off with ease, like one would swat a pestering fly away from their face. I find myself flying backwards until I slam the wall of the nearest storefront yet again, the impact stunning me for a brief moment.

 

“As I said before, you’re young and still learning your place, so I’ll forgive you,” Aldous speaks, a stern warning. “But you _are_ bold. I can respect that.”

 

He finds amusement once again, laughing as she struggles against his cruel and steady grip. She isn’t struggling for long, however, because he lowers her to her feet just as he did before. The second her feet touch the ground, she bolts over to my side, her face a potent combination of fear and anger; she hasn’t had the years of experience that I’ve been afforded, only now beginning to realize the true danger of the man who stands before us. Her previous bravado leaves her, though she tries her hardest to maintain her composure as she helps me to my feet.

 

“There are too many in my circle who are afraid to speak their minds— afraid to act out against the current flow of things. They are relics of the past, and if we’re to move forward, we’ll need to shed them— we’ll need to adapt to a new way of thinking,” he continues.

 

His talk of revolution is almost too much for either of us to stomach. Despite this, we’re in no position to challenge him, with no other other choice than to listen to his grandeur-filled words. I feel every muscle in my body go taut, my jaw tightening to the point where I can nearly feel my teeth shatter beneath the pressure.

 

“How did you do it?”

 

The question is seemingly random, though it’s been floating around in my mind since he first so violently thrusted himself upon us, ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. I have my suspicions, my own theories, but I need to hear the truth from his lips once and for all. I need to put my anxious mind to rest.

 

“I’m sorry?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

 

“When you stabbed her,” I clarify, my voice deep and rough as the ocean floor. “How did you do it?”

 

Cosima is uncharacteristically silent at my side, perhaps even more anxious than I am. Aldous looks me square in the eye, his eyes as dead and unrelenting as they’ve always been.

 

“You already know the answer to that question.”

 

I’m not sure if I should release a sigh of relief or an agonizing sob. I had thought that hearing the truth would somehow make it easier to accept, but instead it’s only made things more difficult and my decision less clear.

 

_He’s found a way around the sun._

 

He’s found a way to realize my dream— the one I’ve dreamt for both myself and Cosima.

 

“I told you before that I was willing to share if you cooperated. That same offer still stands,” he says.

 

My eyes slide shut, a realm of possibility buzzing in my mind. Would it be worth it? Would swallowing my pride and my wrath be worth it if it meant Cosima could have the sun again? If it meant the two of us would be able to stand in the light together, once and for all? If I could give her her life back, would it be worth his price? When I stare over to my side to steal a glimpse of her, her face is drawn into some unreadable expression.

 

“Three days.”

 

His words pull us away from each other again, reinserting us into the harsh reality of our situation.

 

“I’ll give you three days to think it over. You can find me at our local facility when you’ve made up your mind,” he instructs. 

 

Of course, I understand full well that he’s leaving me with no real choice, that this illusion of free will is only a ploy, a way for him to maintain the facade of diplomacy. What Aldous wants, he takes, and I know the rejection of his offer is a declaration of war.

 

“Make the right choice, Delphine,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I won’t ask you a third time.”

 

And with that, he disappears just as quickly as he came, leaving us reeling. 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

As soon as we return home, I’m anxiously pacing the layout of my apartment, racking my brain for possible solutions to our current predicament. Cosima’s eyes follow me around the living room as she hangs back, her lips drawn into a thin, straight line. 

 

“We can’t trust him,” I finally speak, stopping for a moment to meet her gaze.

 

“Of course not. I’m not a moron,” she replies in a breath of almost laughter, amused by my statement of the obvious. “Whatever he’s promising us is total bullshit.”

 

While I’m pleased to hear that both of us are on the same page regarding Aldous, I cannot erase my frown. 

 

“But I promised you I’d do whatever it takes…”

 

She draws in closer, closing the distance between us with a few, brisk steps. 

 

“Whether he’s figured out some sort of way to survive the sun or not, he’s got an angle here. We can’t play into his hands, Delphine. It isn’t worth it,” she reassures me.

 

I know she’s right.

 

I know I cannot give Aldous what he wants, but if he’s found some way to fight back against the sun’s brutality, then I _must_ know. I wonder if there’s a way for me to procure that kind of technology for myself without bending to his will.

 

“He wants us to accept his offer,” Cosima adds. “Whatever it is he’s playing at, the thought of giving that man exactly what he wants makes me want to vom.”

 

I nod.

 

She expels a heavy sigh, plopping down onto the sofa and stretching her arms high above her head and over the back of the sofa. The leather creaks beneath her ministrations and an elongated groan slips out as her muscles are drawn taut. I watch her in silent appreciation, wondering how she can be so seemingly calm and unaffected given our situation.

 

“I can’t believe you lived with that guy and just took his shit for so long,” she mutters. “I take back everything I ever said about you— you’re a pretty good sire after all.”

 

“Really?” I ask with a timid smile and a sliver of hope.

 

Cosima looks up at me, a sly grin spreading across her face.

 

She shrugs.

 

“Well, don’t go getting all cocky about it.”

 

I swallow my excitement, nodding rapidly and resuming my best poker face. Hearing Cosima’s acknowledgement after so long should be a joyous occasion, but once again, I find myself grounded in reality and unable to enjoy it fully.

 

“Aldous is a monster,” I say. “I know he may not look it, but—”

 

“Oh, he _definitely_ looks it. Like one of those creepy, reptile people.”

 

Her face contorts into a grimace to emphasize her point and I stop for a moment, temporarily derailed from my train of thought as she draws another small smile from me. Despite our precarious position, some of her lightness has returned and I’m thankful for it; if she were expressing her panic outwardly and chaotically, I’m not sure I’d have the mind to handle it right now and a part of me senses she’s aware of this, as well— that she’s making a conscious effort to keep herself together and put some of my anxiety at ease.

 

“He needs to be dealt with,” I say, my voice stern.

 

It’s the only conclusion I’m able to come to.

 

So long as Aldous lives, neither of us will be safe. 

 

“Yeah, but how are we gonna do that?” she counters, jumping straight to my next question.

 

Confronting him head-on will only end in certain death for the both of us. Perhaps if Cosima was just a little older, a little stronger, the two of us might have a chance to take him down if we attacked together. However, we are not afforded the luxury of time; three days is hardly long enough for me to train her for such a gruelling battle and even if she were up to the task, there’s no way I’d put her in the line of fire and risk losing her for good.

 

“ _You’re_ not going to do anything,” I correct her. “This is my problem— my fight.”

 

_A fight that’s centuries in the making._

 

She stands, discarding her light demeanour to assume a more serious one.

 

“Yeah, and you sorta dragged me into this one so as far as I’m concerned, you don’t get a say.”

 

I open my mouth to shut her down, but her resolve flickers in her eyes and settles in her steady brow, challenging me. Without a single word from her lips, I’m reminded of the promise I made to her earlier.

 

_“This is the way it’s going to be from now on,”_ my words echo in my head.

 

_Together._

 

Even still, I’m uncomfortable with placing her in this fight; she’s ill-equipped and unprepared for the battle to come and I’m unsure of what I can do to change that. Sensing my hesitation, she encloses once again.

 

“Look, I know I said this was your fault before, but… but maybe it’s sort of mine, too.”

 

I shoot her a questioning glance and as if to put my confusion at ease, her hands find and frame my face.

 

“I mean, I knew what you were,” she explains. “I said I was fine with it but the second shit got real, I freaked out and put it all on you.”

 

I shake my head, pulling her hands away.

 

“Cosima—”

 

“Even if it was mostly your fault, I was stupid and naive and I welcomed you in,” she interrupts. “And maybe I wouldn’t have if I had known better, but—”

 

She stops herself.

 

Realization flashes across her eyes, slowly sinking in and radiating off her in waves. Her eyelids flutter and she tips her head up even higher, staring at the ceiling above her while a coy smile slowly makes its way across her face.

 

“No. I think I still would have, in the end,” she concludes. “I think it would have all played out the same.”

 

A small, sad chuckle escapes.

 

She laughs at the irony of it all— or perhaps it’s a gesture of relief? I can’t be entirely sure. All I know is that a weight is visibly lifted from her shoulders as her muted laughter slowly rattles through her body like a sweet and steady summer breeze.

 

“That’s the part that gets me the most,” she quietly confesses.

 

I swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. Her self-awareness is almost painful and I can’t help but sympathize. It’s both a great and terrible thing, acquiring such a knowledge; knowing that, with everything you know now and your mistakes so very obvious, with a perfect sense of clarity and understanding, that you’d still knowingly and willingly repeat them in every universe.

 

“This is _his_ fault, Cosima,” I finally say.

 

I’m the one reaching for her this time, tipping her chin so that she can stare directly into my eyes and gauge my sincerity.

 

“And we’ll make him pay.”

 

She offers me another smile, a nod in agreement. 

 

“Then I guess we’re gonna have to bust out the big guns, huh?”

 

As her words enter my ears, so does an idea.

 

_Of course!_

 

“Yes. Big guns.”

 

Why hadn’t it dawned on me before?

 

Well, perhaps because calling in such “big guns” would not only mean placing myself out in the open and returning to the fold, but it would leave me in a most precarious position— the position of being indebted to perhaps the most dubious person I know.

 

“What?” 

 

Cosima calls me back, catching my lapse of attention.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You just got that look on your face like you have an idea,” she clarifies, regarding me suspiciously.

 

It’s too early to say for certain, but already the gears in my head are spinning.

 

“I may know of someone who can help.”

 

 

 


	21. XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Ugh. So that episode was a huge letdown. Hopefully this next chapter will make up for it. Once again, thank you all for your continued support. I know it’s hard to be a part of the fandom these days, but I still really love you guys. Peace and love.

“She’ll be with you shortly.”

 

I nod, watching as the perky young blonde promptly exits the room, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with nothing but my anxious thoughts and shaky nerves for company. Instead of taking a seat in one of the tufted, creme-coloured armchairs that perfectly accentuate the exuberance of the estate, I slowly pace around the layout of the dimly-lit study until I find myself standing at the large window overlooking the vast expanse of yard.

 

Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea.

 

After all, Marion had been the one to set Aldous on my trail in the first place. It wasn’t until after I had come to her with my “Cosima” problem that my sire finally managed to locate me after so many years; Aldous had said it was Marion who pointed him in the right direction, and here I am deciding to trust her now— again. 

 

She helped me escape him once before.

 

Will she do it again?

 

“Delphine.”

 

I’m so tangled in my thoughts that I don’t immediately notice the door creak open and the bold, prowling lioness enter. It isn’t until she speaks my name that I’m drawn back into the moment, whipping around to catch sight of her. She lingers in the doorway, an all-knowing smirk stretched across her features.

 

“I’d say this visit comes as a surprise, but—”

 

“We both know that’s not true,” I interrupt, finishing her thought.

 

Her smirk remains fixed, the threat of laughter looming behind her lips.

 

“We always did have such a perfect understanding of each other,” she chimes, her head slightly cocked.

 

“Do we?”

 

I regard her suspiciously as she abandons her post in the doorway, stepping into the study and taking a seat in one of the armchairs. She holds two glasses of wine in hand, setting one down on the fine, oak coffee table. Instead of accepting her wordless offer of peace and hospitality, I hold my position by the window, watching her through narrow slits from across the room; I had come here to ask for help, but now seeing her in front of me, cool and confident, I forget about my initial purpose and am consumed by my anger, by my sense of betrayal.

 

“This is your fault,” I say, finally speaking my mind. “You sent him after me.”

 

“I did no such thing,” she dismisses me casually over the rim of her glass.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Marion!”

 

I take a harsh step forward, my aggression prompting her to set her drink down and finally acknowledge my wrath. 

 

“Aldous told me you were the one who pointed him in my direction. Because of you, everything’s gone to hell! Because of you—”

 

“Did you really think you could hide forever, Delphine?”

 

I stop, her question catching me off guard.

 

“We both know what kind of man Aldous is,” she adds.

 

My entire body grows tense.

 

I’m not entirely sure where to direct my anger anymore— at her, for selling me out? At Aldous, for showing up and ruining everything? At myself, for not knowing better? Marion _does_ have a point. I’ve always known what kind of man Aldous was, always known in the back of my mind that my break from him was far too… painless. I had walked away, and that had been the end of it.

 

Or so I had thought.

 

I had been so paranoid at first, constantly looking over my shoulder for any sign of him. I had secluded myself in Alaska for a time, sure that no one would find me so far north and in such a remote place. And after a while, when it appeared as though his presence wasn’t lurking behind every shadow, I had left my palace of solitude and returned to the world. I had made sure to take precautions, to always tread carefully and keep a low profile, and yet even though it looked as though I had made a clean break after so many decades without a single word from him, a part of me still housed the fear that it had all come far too easy.

 

I was a fool to allow myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. 

 

“Why?” I ask, my voice quivering as my emotions get the better of me. 

 

I know Marion too well. 

 

Even though she helped me all those years ago, I never doubted that she’d harboured some ulterior motive. Marion simply doesn’t do things out of the kindness of her heart— there’s always a plan with her, always a goal in mind. I never understood just _why_ she decided to help me flee my sire’s grasp, but I was never in any position to truly question it before. 

 

But now? 

 

Sending Aldous after me after going to such great lengths to hide me from him? 

 

Bringing me back into the fold?

 

“I keep trying to understand why you’d sell me out. I know you must have some larger plan— so why? Where do I fit into all of this?”

 

It’s the question I’ve been asking myself since Aldous first reappeared in my life.

 

“I’m so happy you asked.”

 

Her smirk only spreads and she crosses her legs, reaching for her wine again and taking another sip. She seems pleased that I’m finally piecing together all the pieces of her puzzle— and coming to realize that I may just be the most prominent one.

 

“Come. Sit,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.

 

Still seething, I try to reign in my anger as I drop in the armchair. It would be easy to lash out at her, but I sense that I’m so close to finally getting the answers that have eluded me for far too long and so I decided to forfeit my hostility in return for an explanation.

 

“Aldous is brilliant, there’s no denying that. He’s done a lot for our kind.”

 

“But…?” I dare to ask, knowing full well that there’s a catch to her assessment.

 

She sighs, almost wistfully.

 

“I’m afraid it’s time for him to go.”

 

Her answer hits me like a slap to the face. Without even saying a word, she’s able to easily read my alarm by the stunned expression on my face, my eyes wide and mouth slightly gaping. 

 

“Oh, please,” she remarks, her tone dismissive. “You didn’t come here just to call me out. You came here because you want the same thing.”

 

She isn’t wrong.

 

Still, I can’t believe I’m hearing the words come from her mouth without any prompting on my part.

 

“And you need me to do it?” I counter, quickly jumping to her heavily-implied conclusion. “You’re older. You’d have a better chance of killing him.”

 

She shrugs, neither confirming nor denying my critique.

 

“Aldous doesn’t entirely trust me anymore. I could tell by our last meeting— he’s beginning to suspect I may be plotting against him. I doubt he’d let me close enough again to assassinate him,” she explains.

 

I think back to our last meeting, to what Aldous had told Cosima; he had said that there were too many within his circle that still clung to old ideals, that they needed to be expunged if we were to move forward as a species. 

 

“Not only that, but we’re both from the same coven. If I killed him, there’s no doubt the others would retaliate,” she finishes her thought.

 

_Of course._

 

“But I’m not a part of the coven anymore,” I conclude.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

Is that what this is all about?

 

Have Cosima and I become wrapped up in some power struggle between two clashing ideologies? Are we mere tools in this escalating war?

 

“So, you have me do all the dirty work,” I mutter.

 

I wonder if that’s all I’ve ever been— if that’s all I’ll ever be?

 

A weapon.

 

“I would have thought you’d be leaping for joy at the opportunity to terminate him yourself,” Marion says, commenting on my suddenly somber demeanour.

 

I shake my head.

 

“If I kill him, like you said— the coven will retaliate. They’ll come for me. They’ll come for Cosima, too,” I retort.

 

I’d be trading one enemy for another, and I’m not entirely sure I like my odds any better with the coven. I may no longer be a part of it, but the coven’s rules are very strict and still ingrained in my mind.

 

_An attack against one is an attack against all._

 

“I can make some assurances,” Marion says, sensing my reservations.

 

I lift my gaze to meet hers.

 

“Most of us tend to think along the same lines. However, for those who are still in league with Aldous, their allegiance stems more from necessity rather than loyalty,” she divulges. “The coven tolerates Aldous because he’s brilliant. He’s the science— the science _we need_ to survive. But if there were someone else to take his place— someone just as brilliant but less conniving and narcissistic— I’m sure even those who still stand by the good doctor wouldn’t mind having him replaced.”

 

The clouds part, and I see the sky with crystal clarity.

 

“You want me to take his place.”

 

My stomach churns.

 

Me? The Director of DYAD? I’ve been out of the picture for so long, I can’t imagine throwing myself back into the thick of it. But then again, if I’m standing at the head of the beast, then I’ll be able to call the shots; I’ll be able to shape the program myself and distance myself from my sire’s influence. Not only that, but I may actually be able to make the sun a reality for Cosima.

 

“If Aldous had his way, he’d wipe out the entire human population. We’re more interested in maintaining a balance,” she says, taking another drink from her glass.

 

There’s no arguing with her there.

 

As anxious as I feel about stepping back onto the scene, about usurping Aldous, I know that it’s a much better position to be in than the one I currently find myself in.

 

“I’ll do it.”

  
“Excellent!” she says with a burst of enthusiasm.

 

She raises her glass, waiting for me to do the same with the untouched glass of wine that still sits on the coffee table. I reach for it, reluctantly raising it until they clink together. I take a small sip and watch as she finishes her own.

 

“If you can guarantee that the coven won’t retaliate, I’ll become the director,” I tell her.

 

“Of course.”

 

If I’m going to do this, if I’m really going to kill Aldous and take his place, then I’m going to need to flesh out a bulletproof plan. As of right now, I can’t think of a single way to dispatch him; attacking him head-on will surely lead to my demise, and even if I was slightly more covert about it and waited for the right moment to strike when his back was turned and his guard was down, chances are he’d still be fast enough to catch me before I could strike a finishing blow.

 

“I don’t know how you expect me to kill him, though. He’s far stronger than me,” I muse. “Even if I could get close, there’s no way I could overpower him.”

 

Marion sets her empty glass down, her eyes twinkling as she offers me yet another wide, white smile.

 

“I think I may be able to help with that.”

 

Once again, her words surprise me.

 

“You want to help?” I ask, my voice thick with skepticism.

 

“Well, you didn’t think I’d set you up for failure, did you? I need assurances, just like you.”

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

WhenI walk through the door, I light up to find her sprawled out on the sofa, her nose buried in one of my many books. She perks up the second she notices me, abandoning the novel and sitting upright.

 

“Hey,” she greets me casually.

 

I can tell that she’s happy to see me, though she doesn’t want to be overly optimistic. After all, she has no way of knowing if I come bearing good news or bad.

 

“You’re still here,” I comment, removing my coat and then heading into the kitchen with my bag. “I half expected you to run off. I know you must be hungry.”

 

Like her, I try to contain my optimism for I know how deadly it can be. While her control has grown, while our relationship has blossomed, at her core, the beast the lingers. I know the hunger of the beast better than anyone and so a part of me had expected to come home to an empty apartment despite my command for her to stay inside.

 

“It can wait,” she dismisses, following me into the kitchen.

 

“No, it can’t.”

 

That much I know.

 

I unzip my bag, reaching inside to retrieve the blood bags that have been safely stored away— a parting gift from Marion. 

 

“I know it’s not as satisfying, but it will sate you for the time being,” I tell her, finding a saucepan in the cupboard and beginning my ritual of emptying the packs into the pan so I can heat them to body temperature on the stove.

 

Much to my surprise, she disregards the blood in front of her.

 

“How did it go? Did she say yes?” she bombards me.

 

I nod slowly, emptying the last pack into the saucepan and turning the stove on.

 

“Geez. I’d think you’d be a little more enthusiastic,” she mutters, absorbing my reserved expression. “You know, considering she agreed to get rid of your psycho sire for us.”

 

I stare into the saucepan, my brow furrowed and thoughts clouded.

 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure how I feel about the entire situation,” I confess. “Even though she said she’d help, I’m still not quite sure how she expects me to take care of Aldous.”

 

“Wait, she wants _you_ to do it?” she asks incredulously, stepping closer. “I thought the whole point in going to her in the first place was to have her deal with him? No offence, but you said it yourself— he’s in an entirely different league.”

 

I turn around to face her, to meet her concern head-on.

 

“She said she has a way. I’m supposed to meet with her tomorrow night. She said she’ll brief me, give me everything I’ll need.”

 

“And you trust her?” Cosima counters.

 

“What choice do I have?” I shrug.

 

Cosima sighs, rubbing the back of her neck.

 

“I don’t like this, Delphine.”

 

It seems my doubt is contagious. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt, tugging at it absently in a subtle display of anxiety. I walk over to her, finding her hand and gently slipping my own into it, my thumb tenderly brushing over her knuckles.

 

“I know,” I concede. “But it must be done, _ma cherie.”_

 

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“But what if— what will I do if—”

 

_I die?_

 

Those are the words she’s searching for— the ones she can’t bring herself to utter. I suppose her fear is well-founded; if I fail, if I’m killed while trying to do this, then she won’t live long enough to worry how she’ll survive without me. Knowing Aldous, he’ll come for her right after and with no allies left, she’ll have nowhere to run. 

 

I _can’t_ let that happen.

 

“Quiet now.”

 

I silence her with a brief but gentle kiss, the gesture putting her mind at ease for the moment. I turn my attention back to the saucepan, the blood now at an acceptable temperature. I turn the stove off and retrieve mugs for the both of us to drink from, pouring into each cup.

 

“What’s her price?” 

 

“Hm?”

 

I lick my lips, wiping away the stain of crimson and offering her my full attention once more. Despite the hunger in her eyes, she’s made no attempt to feed. The mug remains in her still hand, her expression deeply focused.

 

“You said before that there was no way she’d help unless you did something for her. What does she want?”

 

A part of me wants to shield Cosima from the truth, but I know there’s no point in doing so now. We’re both in far too deep not to trust each other completely, to share everything with each other. Any lapse in judgement, any piece of information withheld could be the difference between life and death for us.

 

“I’m going to take over DYAD.”

 

“What?”

 

She sets her mug down on the countertop, brimming with surprise.

 

“She doesn’t trust him, either. She wants him gone. She said she’d help me get rid of him on the condition that I take his place,” I reveal. “He may be insufferable, but Aldous is one of the brightest minds we have. She said that we can’t afford to lose one top mind unless we have a better one to replace it.”

 

I laugh, draining the remnants of my mug.

 

“But you’re done with all that— the science, the politics,” she presses. “I mean, you’ve spent so long running from it. Do you really wanna dive back in?”

 

“Do I want to? No. Not really,” I admit. “But if this is our way forward, then I must take it.”

 

She seems unconvinced.

 

“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as we think,” I try to reason. “I’ll be in a position to change things. I’ll be the one calling the shots this time. I’ll have to deal with the coven again, but it’s better than dealing with _him._ ”

 

She stares down at the mug she’s set aside. After some careful consideration, she reaches for it again, tipping her head back and downing it all in a few, steady gulps.

 

“But do you trust these people?” she asks, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

 

“The only one I trust is you,” I answer without skipping a beat.

 

I offer her a small but reassuring smile. 

 

Her expression softens.

 

“I suspect that won’t ever change.”

 

She sets the mug aside again and nearly throws herself into my arms, wrapping her own around me and holding on for dear life. 

 

“I’ve got your back,” she murmurs into my chest. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

 

I reach for her chin, tipping it upward so our eyes can meet.

 

“There isn’t anything you can do at this point. It’s all up to me, and whether or not Marion can come through.”

 

She nods very slowly, digesting my words. I’m not sure she fully accepts them, but just doesn’t press the issue any further. Instead she extends onto the tips of her toes so that her lips can meet my ear, her fingers toying with one of the buttons of my black button up.

 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

 

Her whisper sends a deep tremor rolling through me and I can feel her lips tug into a grin against my ear.

 

“Come to bed with me.”

 

She puts up no resistance as I pull her along, our hands yanking at fabric. We divest each other rather quickly and when I have her naked and pressed beneath me, all thoughts of Aldous and Marion and DYAD and the coven quickly fade away. I feel her mouth at my neck, fangs slowly unsheathing themselves and teasing at the sensitive flesh, drawing out a moan.

 

“I’m so hungry,” she growls.

 

The desperation in her voice is so palpable that I can taste it in the thickening air. It sends a surge of wetness straight down to my core and as aroused as I am, I still cannot bring myself to throw caution to the wind.

 

“Still?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

She had downed the blood I’d given her earlier in just a few gulps and while it wasn’t enough to gorge herself, I had thought that it would be enough to satisfy her for the time being. When I pull my neck away from her attention long enough to stare down at her, our eyes meeting, I can see the deep, black hunger staring back at me— boring into me.

 

“I want _yours.”_

 

My memory draws me back to that night at the club— the night where we’d finally made love again for the first time since I turned her. We had fed from each other which had spurred a transference; for a few, all-too-brief moments, there were no more barriers between us.

 

We were perfect.

 

Just as I always knew we could be.

 

Just as I knew, deep down, we always were.

 

“That feeling before… I wanna feel it again,” she insists, craning her neck forward to find my mine again, scraping at me with her fangs. 

 

My eyes roll back, a chesty moan slipping out. She slides a thigh between my own, the friction only fuelling my desire for her and weakening my ability to reason. 

 

“I know you want it, too,” she goads me.

 

_God, do I ever._

 

Even with the threat of madness looming somewhere in the deep unknown, I cannot resist her siren’s call. I tilt my head, exposing the expanse of flesh to her and without another word, she sinks into me. I cry out, steadying myself above her. I feel I might explode, smothered beneath the heat that grabs me in all of my most vulnerable, most sensitive places.

 

_“Mon amour…”_

 

I groan through gritted teeth, determined to hold on for a just a little longer, dangling from the edge of the cliff by the very tips of my fingers. When her vigorous mouth finally relents, she presses a kiss to the tiny puncture wounds left in her wake. 

 

“You make me so wet,” she whispers, knowing too well the effect such words have on me.

 

I roughly push her back down onto the mattress and she prepares herself for my onslaught, her eyes clamping shut and head tilting to welcome the sting of my bite. The corners of her lips tug upwards in their excitement and her back arches instinctively, enticing me even further. As I run my hand up the length of her body, up her stomach and ribs until I stop to palm one of her breasts, another idea slips into my head. 

 

Instead of diving straight in for her neck, my lips begin to trail a path down her sternum, paying ample attention to her breasts, teasing at her nipples with the tip of my tongue and the gentle nip of my teeth in just the way she likes. I draw out her tiny sighs of appreciation before descending lower, licking and nipping at her toned stomach.

 

“What are you waiting for?”

 

When I look up at her again, she’s staring down at me with anticipation. She hadn’t expected me to take such a detour and I can tell that as much as she’s enjoying my teasing, she’s also mildly irritated that I’m drawing it out. 

 

It’s worth it, though.

 

When I grab her knees and roughly force her legs apart, holding her open as wide as she can go, she gasps loudly and I stare down lecherously at my prize. I lick my lips at the sight of her, spread open and glistening just for me.

 

_“This,”_ I tell her, lowering myself to her center.

 

Instead of going straight for her wetness, I pepper her inner thigh with languorous kisses. I can taste the faint hint of her arousal which has spilled over to stain her thighs and its enough to force my fangs out of hiding. As soon as she realizes my intentions, she throws her head back and grips the sheets tightly, preparing herself.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Her cry echoes loudly, ringing in my ears the second my fangs penetrate her flesh and find her femoral artery. The cavern of my mouth is flooded with her sweetness and when the first gushing wave slides down my throat, I feel a spark shoot through me, white hot and instant.

 

“Oh, God!” she chokes.

 

Just like before, I can feel her enter me in ways I can’t quite describe. Like the thirsty roots of a tree, I eagerly welcome her— the signal shoots through the stem of my spinal chord, reaching all of my extremities and pouring colour back into the pale winter of my existence until I find myself in full bloom again.

 

 


	22. XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Well, shit! This has taken waaaaaay longer than it should have. I've had very little free time these past few months, what with working insane hours and then deciding to go back to school. I've been working on this chapter since June and was having some trouble wrapping it up, so I decided to just split it up into two parts for the sake of posting something. Anyway, I hope you are all still following and many apologies for keeping you waiting. Enjoy!

As I gaze up at the infinitely tall and ever-imposing structure, my hands itch and burn inside the pockets of my peacoat where I’ve tucked them away for safekeeping. I can’t be certain if the burning is a result of the tiny capsule my concealed fingers are currently fidgeting with— if its effect is so strong that I can feel it now, even in its inactive state — or if it’s purely my mind playing tricks on me in my heightened state of anxiety. Either way, I summon my strongest pokerface and march through the front doors of the DYAD facility, stopping in front of the reception desk.

 

“I’m here to see Aldous Leekie,” I say plainly, seizing the receptionist’s attention from whatever is on his computer monitor.

 

The young man shoots me a skeptical look, then diverts his attention back to the monitor while typing away at his keyboard. He spends a very brief minute occupied by his computer before returning his attention to me once more.

 

“Doctor Leekie doesn’t have any appointments scheduled for this evening,” he replies.

 

“My name is Delphine Cormier. I don’t have an appointment, but I know he’ll want to see me.”

 

His gaze lingers on my stoic face for a few more seconds until he releases a sigh, reaching for the phone at his desk. He brings it to his ear, dialling some numbers and waiting for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. Successful, there is a brief and quiet exchange of words and then the young man is hanging up again, his demeanour completely shifting.

 

“Doctor Leekie will see you,” he says with a curt nod, pointing across the lobby towards the elevators. “The elevator farthest to the right will take you directly to his office.”

 

I offer him a disingenuous smile before I follow his instructions and make my way over to the indicated elevator, pressing the button and waiting for the doors to chime open. Once they do, I step inside the compartment and press yet another button, waiting for the doors to close and for the ride to begin. 

 

Aside from the gentle hum of the elevator, all is silent. 

 

My racing thoughts find themselves paused, frozen in place and unable to continue their loud and reckless thrashing about in my head. I squeeze the capsule hidden in my pocket a little tighter, finding a brand new burst of determination and when the doors open again, I’m overcome by a strange calmness. 

 

I step out of the elevator, my grip loosening and my hands sliding out of my pockets so as not to rouse any suspicion. I take long, purposeful strides down the brightly-lit corridor until I spy him through the glass wall of his office and I freeze again. He’s at his desk, flipping through files while looking thoroughly complacent. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I carry on with my mission until I’m standing in the open doorway of his office.

 

“You’re cutting it awfully close, Delphine. I was starting to believe you wouldn’t show,” he mutters, not even bothering to look up from his work. 

 

“I had a lot to think about.”

 

“And?”

 

I take a single step deeper into his domain.

 

“I wouldn’t be standing here if my answer was no,” I tell him.

 

He finally lifts his eyes from the papers on his desk, an unsettling grin spreading across his face. He closes the manila file and slides it off to the side, sitting up a little straighter in his fine leather chair.

 

“Yes. I suppose you’d be halfway across the world with Cosima by now if you intended to run,” he laughs. “Not that it would make a difference, really— I’d find you all the same.”

 

It takes every ounce of strength I possess not to lunge across the desk and wrap my slender fingers around his throat. As tempting as the prospect is, I know how futile my attack would be. I must wait for the perfect moment before I make my move and not fall victim to his baiting.

 

“It was wise of you to accept my offer,” he informs me, his grin as present and nauseating as ever.

 

He presses a button on the underside of his desk and suddenly, the door to his office is closing behind me, trapping me inside with him. The windows begin to tint, granting us further privacy.

 

“You say that as if I had a choice,” I mutter.

 

I know it isn’t wise to push back, that the success of this plan is entirely dependent upon how convincing of an actress I can be, but it’s much harder to rationalize this fact with him leering back at me from the other side of that desk, his characteristic smugness firm and intact. But then, maybe a little resistance isn’t the worst thing; if I’m suddenly so malleable, surely he’ll suspect that something is off. 

 

I must find the perfect balance of cooperation and my typical defiance.

 

“Of course you do. We _all_ have a choice, Delphine.”

 

I bury my front teeth into the plumpness of my lower lip, stopping myself before another biting comment escapes. He’s able to detect this subtle gesture, his eyes dropping to my lips and lingering for a moment before they rise to meet mine again.

 

“You’ve never understood what it is that I’ve been trying to accomplish,” he says, rising from his seat.

 

I’m tempted to roll my eyes as far back into my skull as they dare go, but instead I watch him make his way around to the other side of his desk until we’re no longer separated by the minimalistic piece of furniture, merely a few steps.

 

“A new world order,” I say with a shrug. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

 

“No. I mean with _you_.”

 

My spine straightens, our conversation diverging into a direction that I never could have anticipated. His eyes remain fixed on me as I squirm beneath his gaze despite my best efforts to collect myself. 

 

“Now that you’ve sired your own, perhaps you can finally understand.”

 

“Understand what?” I say much too quickly, my eyes narrowing as I watch him approach.

 

Backing away is out of the question now; not only is the door sealed behind me, but retreating would completely tear my plan to shreds. Even still, I cannot bring myself to step forward and meet him halfway. I wait for him to come to me, until there’s no way forward or backward.

 

“My love for you,” he says simply, his expression softening.

 

A few, rapid blinks are all I can muster in the immediate moment as I try to process his confession. He stares down at me, waiting patiently for my response as I’m overcome by a series of emotions that don’t necessarily compliment each other.

 

“Your _love for me?”_ I ask incredulously.

 

I wonder if this is a joke, or perhaps a test— some way for him to see how compliant I really am, how far he can bend me to his will. The look in my eyes transforms from one of confusion to one of anger and betrayal.

 

“Yes. As hard as that may be for you to accept,” he answers without faltering.

 

I shake my head, my gaze dropping to the floor.

 

“Everything I’ve ever done has been for your betterment,” he continues, his voice much softer than I’m accustomed to.

 

He reaches out towards me but before he can make contact, I shrug out of his grasp and squeeze around him. He doesn’t bother to stop me like I’d half expected him to. He allows me the space, allows me to quietly explode inside of myself for a minute before I turn back to face him.

 

“Allowing me to torment half of Europe was _for my betterment?”_ I counter, my voice impassioned.

 

“It’s important for fledglings to feed— and to learn their own limits,” he tries to explain, facing my wrath head-on. “I allowed you to roam free, to embrace your true nature. And when I saw that it was becoming problematic, I corrected the problem.”

 

“You shipped me off to Marion!” I snap again.

 

He shrugs off my anger.

 

“Marion was much better suited for dealing with you than I was. I did what was best for you. I think if you can set your feelings aside, you’ll agree.”

 

In this moment, my plan is lost to me. 

 

I never expected to hear such words pouring from his mouth and I find myself completely swept up in them. You see, I had given up on an explanation oh so long ago and resigned myself to the fact that he operated purely on his psychopathic tendencies, that I had been just another one of his indiscriminate victims. I had resigned myself to the fact that there was no greater purpose in his actions— that there was no greater purpose for me— and that trying to find meaning in all of this would only end in more trauma. 

 

_And now, after so long, to finally hear what I had once secretly hoped for every night…_

 

I’m not met with the feeling of relief or fulfilment that I had imagined.

 

“So many years together, Delphine…”

 

His voice is watery and distant, even as he approaches me again. I don’t bother stepping away this time— my non-beating heart weighs me down, holding me in place like cinderblocks tied to my feet while the cold, dark tide comes rolling in, carrying with it all my ghosts.

 

“We spent so many years living together, working together… and then you just _vanished.”_

 

His voice sounds… _pained?_

 

I had not expected this.

 

I feel his presence directly behind me. He’s so close now that if he drew breath, I’d undoubtedly feel it tickling at the nape of my neck. His proximity is enough to make my skin instinctively crawl so I close my eyes and instead try to imagine Cosima— the warmth her presence always brings, the way her breaths used to pimple my skin when I could feel them hot against me. He places a hand upon my shoulder and it immediately rips me from that vision, plunging me back into a very different time and place.

 

When’s the last time Aldous has been this close to me without a hand wrapped around my throat?

 

I close my eyes again, my entire body tensing as the memory plays out in my mind.

 

I remember the hollow feeling as he meticulously worked at the buttons of my blouse, as I wordlessly watched him strip the garment from me, followed by the others. I remember feeling him move inside of me and thinking that I would never be purposeful again. I remember quietly slipping out of his bed, slipping back into my clothes and out of his grasp for good. Even as I walked out the door and he watched me with a smile, he still hadn’t realized that I was never coming back, that he’d lost me for good. 

 

As brilliant as he is, Aldous only sees what he _wants_ to see. And when he wanted me? When he _had_ me? He was incapable of seeing anything else. Suddenly, I’m overcome by a revelation. I must will the corners of my lips into stillness as a smile beckons them upward.

 

_I’ve found my opening._

 

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” I whisper, my voice strained.

 

There is a truth to my words even as I slather on the extra emotion— the response I know he’s looking for.

 

“You wavered,” he confirms.

 

He pulls away from me and my eyes follow him as he ventures back behind his desk, toward the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. He reaches for the glass bar cart, fishing a few cubes of ice from the small ice bucket and plopping them into two glasses. 

 

“I suppose it _is_ my fault, in a sense,” he admits with a sigh, opening an expensive-looking bottle of bourbon. “I became too engrossed in our work to realize what was happening with you.”

 

He pours a splash of bourbon into each glass and I nod slowly.

 

“I needed to get away. I needed a fresh start,” I say, continuing to feed him his desired response.

 

He smiles back at me, handing me one of the glasses.

 

“I know.”

 

I accept the glass, though I’m reluctant to drink from it. It isn’t until I watch him take the first taste that I dare to bring the alcohol to my lips and take a sip of my own.

  
“I was furious when you left. I had half a mind to chase after you immediately and drag you right back,” he says with a chuckle, staring into his glass as he swirls the liquid around. “But you see, I knew I’d lose you forever if I did that. So instead, I gave you your space. I gave you your freedom.”

 

He looks up from his glass, meeting my gaze again.

 

“And now it’s time for you to return.”

 

I cannot fake the shiver his words evoke and I clutch my glass a little tighter, throwing my head back and downing the rest of the amber liquid. The thought of returning to that man makes me want to vomit it all back up, but I’m miraculously able to keep it down and drag out this charade.

 

“But it’s different this time, Delphine. You have Cosima now.”

 

The very mention of Cosima’s name spurs another twisting in my stomach.

 

“She’s young, but she’s sharp. You made a wise choice in choosing her as your progeny— and your mate,” he says, setting his now-empty glass on his desk and walking back around so that he’s way too close for comfort yet again. “She still has much to learn, though. We can teach her together.”

 

Listening to him speak about Cosima like this— like she’s another morsel for him to devour— another girl for him to mold to his liking— fills me with pure and utter dread; even death would be a better fate for her than to allow him to dig his claws into her, to corrupt her absolutely. 

 

“There is no bond quite as strong as that between a sire and their progeny. Don’t you agree?”

 

To emphasize his point, he reaches out to trace the line of my jaw like he has so many times before, back when I still belonged to him. He always told me I had the face of a Greek goddess, that death suited me— that its paleness complimented my already fair features. I remember how he used to study my body— not with the same awe and adoration I possess when exploring Cosima’s, but with something deep and devious. It sends another shudder down my spine and I try to bow my head away from his touch, but he catches my chin and holds me in place.

 

“I know she may hold your heart right now, but there was a time when _I_ was the one,” he tells me, his eyes intense as he holds my gaze. “Don’t you remember?”

 

I remember him holding many things, like a noose around my neck.

 

My heart was never one of them.

 

“And now you’re back.”

 

He leans in, but before his lips can make contact, I slip out of his grasp again. His eyes narrow, he stares at me in what I think is a mix of confusion and frustration, waiting for some sort of explanation.

 

_What am I doing?_

 

His kiss is the most perfect opening I could have ever hoped for and yet, even knowing this, I avoid it like the sun. I’m silent for a moment, my head bowed as I rack my mind for some sort of explanation.

 

I find none.

 

Instead, I’m bombarded by images of my past— images of my mother and father whom I can barely remember, of ballrooms I never truly belonged in and suitors I could never stomach, and then blood and screams of terror— red violence, flashing before my eyes and a darkness that stretches on forever. 

 

In this moment, I am vulnerable. 

 

_But so is he._

 

“I need you to tell me why.”

 

My voice is low and quiet, trembling as I go off-script. 

 

“Hm?”

 

He steps closer to me again and I look up, finally finding the meaning in my words and the fire in my belly.

 

“Why me? Why all of this?”

 

This is my last chance to know— my _only_ chance. I’m not sure what good the truth is now, if it even truly matters any more, but irrelevant or not, I find myself needing to know before I can carry out my will. Before the truth is lost for good, I need to hear it from his mouth.

 

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asks, his head cocked as he regards me with a subtle curiosity.

 

It’s one of the few memories from my past life that is still quite vivid in my mind. I remember the exact moment when I first crossed paths with Aldous Leekie, though I never could have guessed what monster lurked behind such a charming demeanour.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

_I exhale a sigh of relief as I silently close the door behind me with a soft click, leaning back against its firmness. The world outside howls and buzzes with laughter and conversation, with joy and scandal._

 

_It’s all too much for me._

 

_Even on my birthday, I cannot lower my defences for just a second to take it all in, to smile and cede to my father’s will as man after man approaches me in the large yet crowded hall, whispering their sweet promises and trying to elicit a smile from my meek lips while music plays and couples dance._

 

_“You’re twenty-six now,” my father had told me as my handmaiden laced up my gown in preparation for the lavish event. “Girls your age ought to be long-time married by now, with children of their own.”_

 

_I know he’s right, that I could be considered an old maid by now. All of the other daughters of noble father’s I’ve grown up with have already found their husbands and are building families of their own. Even still, I do not feel old. Quite the opposite, really— I feel far younger than I’d like to admit._

 

_“I’ve been generous with you, Delphine. I’ve never forced you into anything against your will, nor do I wish to. I want you to find a suitable match of your own— someone who will make you happy and take care of you,” he had tried to explain._

 

_“I know, Papa.”_

 

_“There are so many fine young men waiting to meet you. Surely you’ll find at least one of them to your liking.”_

 

_I had remained quiet as my handmaiden finished her chore and my father continued to ramble on with his usual lecture that I’d heard a thousand times before. It was never my intention to disappoint or frustrate him, merely my own indecisiveness which held me in such a passive state for so long._

 

_I step further into my father’s study, running a hand along the elegant mahogany desk that is cool to the touch, my eyes skimming over the spines of finely-bound books encased in the shelves along the wall. As I make my way over towards them, my eyes hone in on one particular title that has drawn me back to this very place time and time again in secret. I drag my fingers along the spine, tracing the letters before carefully easing the book out of its slot._

 

_A cautious smile stretches across my face— the tiniest spark, the threat of combustion looming somewhere below._

 

_With the book in hand, I take a seat on the chaise longue and begin to very carefully flip through the pages, paying special attention to all of the detailed illustrations. I close my eyes just for a moment, running my fingers over the images and even through shut lids, they’re just as clear and vibrant as my first read through— burned into my memory._

 

_“Mademoiselle.”_

 

_I jolt, an unfamiliar voice disturbing me from thoughts and tearing me away from my brief stint of privacy. I had managed to escape the army of relentless suitors sent by my father by seeking refuge in his study— a room I was often scolded for trespassing in, though fear was never enough to hold me back. Forbidden or not, this is, perhaps, the one room in this vast mansion that I actually feel at home in._

 

_“Pardon me. I did not mean to disturb you,” the man quickly apologizes, bowing his head._

 

_My eyes narrow as I inspect him closely, my brain trying to place his face. I can’t recall ever meeting him before, but he smiles down at me with such a strange look of familiarity in his eyes that I begin to doubt my own memories._

 

_“I-It’s fine,” I dismiss his apology. “I was just… umm…”_

 

_I close the book, setting it down in my lap as I fidget nervously. He is an older man, easily middle-aged and so the only conclusion that I can draw is that he must be a friend of my father’s._

 

_“These affairs can get quite tedious, can’t they?” he asks with a knowing smile._

 

_I nod slowly._

 

_“I just needed a moment to myself,” I try to explain, secretly hoping he’ll take pity on me and not report this incident to my father._

 

_“Of course.”_

 

_I offer him a reserved smile, my fingers still fidgeting with the book in my lap. I expect him to leave me alone, but instead he hovers. I’m far too conscious of his gaze as it remains transfixed on me, causing me to squirm in my seat as I wait for him to speak, to state his purpose._

 

_“That’s an interesting piece you have there,” he finally says, gesturing to the book. “Are you familiar with it?”_

 

_I instantly perk up._

 

_Our eyes meet._

 

_The second we lock eyes, I can feel myself begin to… slip? It’s a strange sensation, one I’ve never experienced before and even though I can’t quite put a name to it, even though I’m aware that something about this entire encounter seems off, I find myself unable truly question it. I feel as though I’ve become ensnared in a thick fog and while a voice in my head screams for me to turn away— to turn back towards safety and grab hold of something to tether myself— it’s much too distant and quiet to deter me. His eyes seem to open up, revealing deep, black holes that pull me further and further away from myself and deeper into the fog._

 

_“Oh, yes! Papa tells me I shouldn’t waste my time with such endeavours, but I can’t help myself,” I admit in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “I know I’m not allowed in here, but even still…”_

 

_I can’t understand what has prompted me to share such things with a stranger, but I feel somehow relieved by my confession. As if sensing this, his smile only grows and his laughter rears its head again._

 

_“Well, it seems you’re not so innocuous after all,” he comments, looking rather pleased. “Those prancing fools have no idea, do they? No concept of that devious little creature hiding in there.”_

 

_His words pimple my skin, causing me to clutch the book so tightly I’m afraid I might damage it. I cannot hide my frown as a single thought crosses my mind:_

 

_I want to go home._

 

_Only I am home._

 

_Aren’t I?_

 

_The walls seem smaller, sharper. I don’t feel so welcomed in this space anymore, I don’t feel the same wave of reverence washing over me as my eyes dart across the room, focusing on anything other than the man that’s seized this space with his veiled intentions. In just one short, strange conversation, he’s somehow managed to twist the air itself and the only thing I’m able to fully grasp in the moment is that everything is different now— that I’ll never go home again._

 

_“You have nothing to fear. I wouldn’t dream of telling your father of your… indiscretion,” he says, trying to put my mind at ease but only prompting my nerves to tremble even more._

 

_“You know my father?” I ask._

 

_“I do.”_

 

_His face is impervious as I try to discern his intent._

 

_“You are… his friend?” I try again._

 

_He shrugs._

 

_“I suppose you could say that.”_

 

_It’s clear to me that he’s dodging my questions, answering me with only half-truths, though I can’t determine the reason for his elusiveness._

 

_“You “suppose?” How does one make presumptions about friendship?” I counter, my words carrying more bite than they’re accustomed to. “You’re either friends or you’re not.”_

 

_“Is that right?”_

 

_He’s smiling again, chuckling again, and this time he takes a seat right next to me on the elongated sofa._

 

_“Oh, sweet girl. The world is never black or white… but you know that already, don’t you?”_


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** I should be studying, but instead I decided to finally finish this chapter. There’s one more after this, plus the epilogue. I guess I should also issue a trigger warning for attempted rape and violence-- it was super uncomfortable to write, but ultimately necessary to the plot. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and thanks for the continued support :)

“I realized right away how brilliant you were.” 

 

He settles both hands upon my shoulders, his smile easy and fingers lightly squeezing in a gesture that is supposed to be reassuring, only it fills me with a greater sense of dread as he gazes down upon his work.

 

“Your father didn’t see it— _no one did,”_ he continues, his voice smooth and steady and starkly contrasting the Atlantic storm that rages within me. “They couldn’t respect a woman and her brilliance back then, but I knew from the beginning how rare you were— that in a different time, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t be condemned to such a mundane and meaningless life.”

 

In the beginning, I was foolish enough to believe this lie. 

 

Even though Aldous had filled me with a feeling of uneasiness from the moment we first crossed paths, I ignored my instincts and better judgement because he had been the first—the only—to offer me what my heart truly craved.

 

Validation.

 

I never wanted to be loved or worshipped. In my youth, I often found myself enveloped in both sentiments; I had a family and a household who adored me, I had men throwing themselves at my feet, grateful just for the chance to be in my presence for the briefest of moments. I had been the center of so many worlds and yet, I had never felt more isolated and unfulfilled. I had realized rather quickly that I would never be satisfied, that all of the love in the world wouldn’t be enough to pacify my growing ambition, my natural curiosity which evolved as I watched the world around me vastly changing. Aldous had waltzed into my life with his knowing smile, speaking all the right words to appeal to my desperate heart. He never scoffed, only encouraged. He claimed to see in me the person I always wished I could be—bold and resourceful and intelligent—and I had been naive enough to mistake his faith for something deeper, something sincere. 

 

“That wasn’t _your_ decision to make,” I throw back at him.

 

I had thought that Aldous was so different from everyone else in my life. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he was just the opposite; instead of liberating me, he was the very manifestation of control and I had traded in my cage for a leash. 

 

He expels a frustrated sigh, releasing me from his grasp.

 

“What do you think would have happened to you if I hadn’t entered the picture?” he counters, his anger bubbling just below the surface. “You would have been married off to some nobleman that you absolutely despised. You would have spent your days tending to his home, his children. That’s all you ever would have been—chattel.” 

 

There were many times I asked myself that same question. 

 

Would I have been happier? 

 

Would a mundane and mortal and meaningless existence in the sun have brought me more peace than the enlightened and extended one I’ve spent wallowing beneath the moon for so many years? Of course, I wouldn’t have endured the centuries of torment I’d been subjected to, but then I wouldn’t have met Cosima either. 

 

When I look back up at him, he seems to deflate. 

 

“I couldn’t bear to see that for you, Delphine.”

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

_“Monsieur Leekie!” I exclaim, a bout of excitement overcoming me as I spot the familiar figure making its way through the rows of plants and flowers and down the path toward the bench upon which I sit._

 

_I had retreated to the garden for privacy after a particularly vexing argument with Papa. Watching the sunset always seemed to soothe my heart and fill me with a sense of clarity, so I watched the sun slowly dip down below the horizon as I reflected upon my relationship with my family and my uncertain future. However, as the moon rose higher into the sky and brought with it its blanket of stars, my clarity was nowhere to be found and my lonely vigil endured._

 

_“Please,” he laughs, waving his hand dismissively at the title. “Aldous is fine.”_

 

_The older man has become a fixture in my life as of late, ever since since his strange and sudden appearance at my grandiose birthday celebration. On the many occasions he’s stopped by, it’s always been to speak with Papa on matters which I’m not privy to, though he’s always gone out of his way to be kind to me, to engage me in conversation while he waits for my father. I’ve grown quite fond of our conversations; Aldous is a learned man, well-versed in many different subjects. The most appealing to me is his vast knowledge of the sciences and when we converse, he’s never condescending and never seeks to silence me. In fact, he’s always eager to hear my opinions and observations on whatever topic we’re discussing._

 

_“Have you come to see Papa again?” I ask, my eyes round and wide as I stare up at him._

 

_He smiles down at me._

 

_“No,” he answers. “This time, I’ve come for you.”_

 

_His answer in an unexpected one._

 

_“Me?” I repeat, unable to make sense of his intentions. “Why?”_

 

_He laughs again, lowering himself so that he can take a seat next to me on the bench._

 

_“Why wouldn’t I want to see you, Delphine?”_

 

_My hands ball into fists in my lap, my father’s words repeating in my ear._

 

_“Men want wives and sons, Delphine! Stop entertaining these childish fantasies and grow up! You won’t be young forever!”_

 

_After turning down yet another promising young suitor, Papa had berated me. He fears I’ve rejected all the young men in France, that there will be no one left who’ll have me. While Papa has always been patient with me in the past, something about him has changed quite recently and I’m not certain if it’s just a symptom aging or if there is some other factor. Either way, it has created an unsettling and unfamiliar rift between us._

 

_“You seem upset. Tell me what’s happened.”_

 

_“Oh. I-It’s nothing.”_

 

_I sense that there is another force at play beyond the veil of concern he so easily dons, though the second I lift my gaze to meet his, all reservations are lost._

 

_“You’ve been fighting with your father again, haven’t you?”_

 

_“Oui,” I nod, the words slipping right out of my mouth. “How did you know?”_

 

_He smiles again, reaching toward me to catch one of my stray curls between his fingers. He toys with the golden lock for a brief second before tucking it securely behind my ear like Maman has done for me so many times in the past, though there is a look in his eyes that is far less nurturing than my mother’s._

 

_“I can always tell when you’ve been fighting with him. It weighs so heavily on your heart,” he answers._

 

_This is true._

 

_“Papa is upset with me,” I confess, my lip quivering. “He says I’m being difficult, but—”_

 

_“But it’s your life. Why shouldn’t you get a say in how you’re going to live it?”_

 

_“Yes! Exactement.”_

 

_It’s as if he’s reading my deepest, most private thoughts and I’m unsure whether I should feel unburdened by this fact or vulnerable in the face of his frightening level of insight. As if sensing my internal conflict, he places a hand upon my knee, his thumb lightly brushing over the joint and causing my flesh to pimple._

 

_“He punishes you for thinking diversely.”_

 

_There has been more than one occasion where I’ve believed this._

 

_One would think a father would be delighted by the knowledge that his daughter has grown into an intelligent and capable individual who harbours an openness to the world, though Papa is less interested in opening the world and all of its opportunities to me and more concerned with enclosing me in the small, carefully constructed one he’s spent the last twenty-six years trying to secure. Although unlike Aldous, I’ve never once doubted my father’s intentions and I often find myself excusing his behaviour; a father’s love is a powerful and mysterious thing and while sometimes violent and tumultuous, it ultimately stems from a place caring and concern… right? No matter how harsh his words, Papa has always regarded me with nothing short of unconditional love and when I remind myself of this fact, I always find myself feeling guilty for my heart— for not being able to embody his vision._

 

_“I don’t punish diverse thinkers, Delphine.”_

 

_I’m pulled from my sulking, suspended by the suggestive tone in his voice._

 

_“I encourage them,” he says, ensnaring me. “I reward them.”_

 

_The glimmer from his newly-exposed eyeteeth which escape through his smile matches the one in his deep, dark eyes that remain fixated on me. I shift ever-so-slightly, equal parts intrigued and unnerved by whatever it is he’s alluding to._

 

_“Reward?”_

 

_He removes his hand from my knee, standing rather suddenly as if caught up in a great gust of enthusiasm._

 

_“I have an opportunity for you,” he says._

 

_I detect a salacious undertone and perhaps I should tread more carefully, but the very mention of an opportunity has me dangling on the edge of his carefully crafted words. After such a terrible fight with Papa, I’m open to any and all opportunities._

 

_“What kind of opportunity?”_

 

_His smile widens._

 

_“I want to work with you, Delphine.”_

 

_“Work? With me?”_

 

_In the short time that I’ve known him, Aldous has never actually mentioned what it is he does for a living. He carries himself with the air and wealth of an aristocrat though I’ve always had the impression that he wasn’t born into nobility like the rest of us, that he’s earned his station through other means. Perhaps this is why I’ve quietly admired him and why he’s always been able to peak my curiosity; I can tell through our conversations alone that he’s an intellectual and I can only assume that he’s used his great intellect to advance himself._

 

_Yes._

 

_He is a man that—despite whatever odds were stacked against him at birth—has been able to transcend the boundaries the world has attempted to impose upon him._

 

_Could I ever become such a person?_

 

_“Yes. I could use a deft mind,” he continues with his pitch. “And I can tell that yours is one of the sharpest. I’d hate to overlook such a feat simply because you’re a woman. That seems so wasteful, don’t you agree?”_

 

_I smile an honest smile, one that carries the full weight of all my hopes as I release them from their cramped, dark confines and allow them to inhale a deep breath for the very first time in my adult life._

 

_“You really want to work with me?”_

 

_I’m bewildered._

 

_I wonder what Papa would say if I told him Aldous has offered me a job. Would he rejoice? Would he finally find some shred of pride in me and embrace my ambition which he’s dismissed as childish delusion for so long? Would he let me go gracefully? Or would he continue with his stubborn and rigid assertions? Would he scoff at the very idea of me pursuing my passion? The more I consider it, the more I fear his rejection._

 

_Perhaps it’s best not to say anything at all._

 

_“Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there? Perhaps you are exactly what I’ve been looking for this entire time, or perhaps you’re not. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years of experience, it’s that you must open your mind to everything— embrace all possibilities.”_

 

_“Oui!”_

 

_I spring to my feet to bring myself closer to his standing height, his words inciting me to action. Papa had been right about one thing— I’m not a child anymore. I must start making my own decisions, I must take control of my life and carve out my own future._

 

_“You agree?”_

 

_“Of course!” I immediately respond._

 

_His expression shifts._

 

_His eyes grow impossibly darker, his smile larger as his teeth appear to grow. I wonder if I’m imagining it but as I try to move my body, I find myself frozen in place. I feel the sharp sting of panic in my chest and I open my mouth to speak, but language escapes me._

 

_“Wonderful.”_

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

“And now look at you,” he chimes, his voice full of pride. “One of the finest vampires alive today.”

 

I’m silent. 

 

Like that day back in the garden, I am frozen in place— unable to move or speak as his words sink into my skull.

 

“Whether you’re capable of admitting it or not, my gambit paid off.”

 

Is that what my life has been all this time? A gambit? A means to an end? A way for him to recognize those delusions of grandeur? Maybe at first. Maybe that’s what he intended for me, but after everything that’s happened—after breaking free, after meeting Cosima—I cannot believe that anymore. I may not know exactly _what_ my life has become at this point, but I know it’s more than he would have me believe.

 

“Is that what you think?” I ask in a low whisper.

 

A muted chuckle escapes him and he throws his arms up in the air as if his very existence is the proof which I seek.

 

“Here we are, centuries later and at the pinnacle of human evolution.”

 

I scoff.

 

If this is really what he envisions “the pinnacle of human evolution” to be, I wonder what future the human species has at all. 

 

“Enough of this.” 

 

His expression grows more serious, his tone authoritative. 

 

“I’ve answered your questions. I’ve been more than patient with you. It’s time to move on.”

 

He ventures back over to his desk, clicking a button to make the door to his office open once more. I frown at the unexpected turn of events; my plan is dependent upon keeping him isolated and as he makes his way over through the door and gestures me to do the same, I wonder where he’s leading me to next and if I’ve missed my golden opportunity by wallowing in the past.

 

“Allow me to bring you up to speed,” he says, stepping into the elevator as I follow closely behind. “Once you see what I’ve been working on, I’m certain your feelings toward me will change.”

 

I’m very much aware of his presence as we share the compartment on our ride all the way down to the restricted levels. Even with my back turned to him I can feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of my head, eyeing me down as if I’m his next meal. I stick my hands back into the pockets of my coat, my fingers fidgeting with the capsule that I’m relieved to find.

 

“Here we are.”

 

The elevator comes to a halt and the doors open. I allow him the first steps and continue to follow him closely as he leads me into a state-of-the-art lab. It’s been so many years since I’ve set foot in a DYAD lab and it’s more impressive than I remember. Technology has vastly improved in the decades since my absence and I simply can’t help myself; I stop in the center of the space, twirling my body so I can take in all of the finer details of my surroundings, my eyes raking over every inch of new tech. Machines buzz and hum, monitors glow and Aldous smirks as he watches my reaction to the exuberant laboratory.

 

“Doctor Leekie! So good to see you.”

 

In my amazement, I hadn’t even registered the small team of doctors apparently hard at work, hunched over microscopes and typing away at computers. They all stop when they notice their superior and instead of greeting them with the same level of respect, Aldous frowns.

 

“Leave. All of you.”

 

Without another word, the entire group quickly packs up and vacates the premises, leaving the two of us alone. I release a mental sigh of relief, grateful to be alone with him again and awarded another opportunity to strike.

 

“Go ahead,” he says. “Take a look around. I know you want to.”

 

I wish he was wrong and I curse him for knowing me better than I’d like to admit. With a straight face, I saunter over to one of the abandoned stations and take a seat on the stool so I can observe the slide beneath one of the microscopes. I squint, my eyes trying to take in as many details about the organism dancing beneath the lens and the second I realize just what it is I’m looking at, my eyes widen, my jaw slackens.

 

“This is…?”

 

“Yes.”

 

I stand, walking over to a rather large monitor. I use the mouse to quickly scroll through the data on the screen, scanning for small snippets of information that I might be able to use.

 

“We’ve made great strides, though the serum is still in its prototype phase,” he informs me. “As of right now, it grants the user about three hours of UV resistance.”

 

I hadn’t expected him to divulge this information so soon, to share all of the secrets of his research right away. I’m not sure whether I should be grateful or insulted; sharing such data with me means I’ve somehow managed to earn back his trust… or he knows that he has me by the throat and that I’m in no position to betray him.

 

“Three hours?” I repeat.

 

“Well. In most cases,” he shrugs. “We’re still running tests, but three hours seems to be the average limit for most subjects. I managed to hold on for closer to four, though I can’t hold others to the same standards— my blood _is_ ancient, after all.”

 

It’s irrefutable.

 

_This_ is how he managed to strike Cosima down despite the sun’s rays. By injecting himself with this serum, he bought himself enough time to carry out the task and escape any real damage. My hands ball into fist, quiet in their anger but no less potent. He doesn’t seem to notice or if he does, he disregards my subtle shift in demeanour.

 

“We’ve reached a snag in development, though,” he sighs a weary sigh.

 

I arch a brow.

 

“How so?”

 

I turn away from the monitor, abandoning my pursuit of knowledge momentarily so I can focus all of my attention on the task at hand— the man before me.

 

“As I said, three hours is the cap. It’s been the cap for the last sixteen months we’ve been slaving over it.”

 

“Three hours is better than nothing,” I tell him. “When I left, such a result seemed like a distant dream… yet, here you are.”

 

“Yes, but have you ever known me to be satisfied with mediocrity?” he asks with a smile, a reserved bout of laughter.

 

He’s right about that.

 

Aldous will _never_ be satisfied with just a taste of the pie when the entire thing remains within eyesight. Like a dog lurking under the dinner table munching on scraps, he’ll stop at nothing until he’s found a way onto the table himself, or he’s managed to drag every tasty morsel down onto the floor with him.

 

“Three hours won’t suffice.”

 

“You want to make it permanent,” I say, answering my own question.

 

He smiles again, leading me over to a different monitor this time. He types away at the keyboard, pulling up multiple files— case studies, from what I can tell.

 

“After three hours, the immune system begins to break down the serum and expel it from the body. After prolonged exposure, the serum loses its effect altogether.”

 

I hum in acknowledgement.

 

“It’s really not that unusual,” I remark.

 

Introducing a foreign pathogen into the body often produces such a result, which I’m sure Aldous is very aware of. Even though his background in immunology isn’t as extensive as mine, this is a fairly simple deduction that any qualified doctor would be able to reach.

 

“True, but we still haven't been able to find a way around it,” he counters. “No matter which methods we try, the immune system always attacks. Even our best minds seem to have exhausted all avenues— they seem to lack any sort of creativity in that department.”

 

I laugh sardonically, his master plan coming into full view.

 

_Of course._

 

“How _fortunate_ for you that I’m extremely well-versed in immunology,” I say, trying my hardest to dull the bite in my words. “Perhaps the _most_ qualified individual to tackle this project.”

 

While I have no doubt that a part of him wanting me to return to his side has something to do with his possessive and egotistical nature, his ambition is most definitely the driving force; I am the only person alive who can help him realize his great vision— the only thing standing between “perfection” and failure, in his eyes.

 

“You always were a quick study.”

 

I’ve nearly lost count of the number of times this evening that I’ve been tempted to close the distance between us with a harsh blow to his smug face. I must remind myself again that I serve a greater purpose—that this is all part of a much larger plan and I have Aldous in the palm of my hands right now, whether he knows it or not.

 

“I’ll need access to all of the data,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

 

“Of course,” he nods. “Whatever you need—equipment, personnel—it’s all at your disposal.”

 

“Good. Then I guess I’ll get to work.”

 

I move to take a seat in one of the chairs but before I can do so, he catches me by the arm, holding me in place.

 

“There’s no need for that.”

 

I shoot him a quizzical glance.

 

“I thought you were eager for me to resume my employment?”

 

“Oh, I am. But there’s no need to start right this very second,” he explains with an elongated smile, releasing my arm. “Your mask is impeccable as always, but I know this evening has been hard on you. This is a lot to take in. You can start tomorrow after you’ve had time to process your newfound position. It’ll give me time to add you into the system.”

 

“How generous of you,” I mutter.

 

He laughs at my snark, an act which catches me off guard. In the past, he was always so insistent on manners; speaking back to Aldous with any sort of attitude simply wasn’t tolerated. However, he seems to be enjoying my small jabs of rebellion. Perhaps he views it as a challenge, as the mountain he must climb before he can truly bring me to heel. God knows how much he loves breaking in the difficult— taming the most wild. I can tell by his rapidly darkening eyes that he’s fixated and I remind myself yet again that this is an opening I can use.

 

“Well then, if there’s nothing more you need from me right now, I guess I’ll leave.”

 

I manage to advance half a step towards the door before he grabs my arm again, this time much harsher than before. The roughness of his gesture pulls me back into him and I nearly stumble over my feet.

 

“I didn’t say we were finished, did I?”

 

His voice is low, his smile completely gone. Whatever charming and jovial mask he wore before has evaporated, revealing the creature’s true face— the face I’ve known far too well for far too long. 

 

Despite knowing full well where his intentions lay, I continue to play the fool.

 

“You bring me here to work, then tell me you don’t need my services right now. If we’re not finished, what else is there?”

 

His hand his rough against my chin as he forces my head up until my eyes are locked with his. 

 

“We’ve been apart for a long time, Delphine. Why don’t we… catch up?”

 

He says it as if it’s a suggestion, though I know that’s hardly the case.

 

“You want to _catch up_?”

 

“Why not?” he asks, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I just shared what I’ve been up to all this time, but I’ve only caught a glimpse of your life.”

 

I pause, taking a moment to read his expression and decipher the look in his eyes. Since my rebellion seems to intrigue him, each flicker of defiance causing his eyes to thicken, I decide to continue down my current path of measured bravado.  


“What makes you think I want to share with you?” I counter, pulling myself from his grasp.

 

I backpedal, never tearing my gaze from his. The very action is a challenge—we’re both hyperaware of this—and I wait in shaky anticipation for him to make the next move. He neither smiles nor frowns, shows no sign of amusement or displeasure. In fact, I have quite a hard time reading his expression as we both remain fixed in place.

 

“You know better than this, Delphine,” is all he says.

 

His voice is low— almost daring. Amused or displeased, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve seized his full attention. He’s so tempted and enraptured that I slowly slip my hand into the pocket of coat where the capsule is safely housed, confident that he won’t even notice with his gaze so transfixed upon my own.

 

“Do I?” I ask, cocking my head.

 

He steps closer, his strides purposeful as he closes the distance between us.

 

“I think you do.”

 

My grip on the tiny capsule tightens as I squeeze it in my fist and prepare to unsheathe it, setting the final act into motion. Before I have a chance to do so, I find myself backed up into one of the desks as he forces his lips upon mine. My eyes instinctively clamp shut and a whimper escapes as I shake my head.

 

“I can’t—” I manage to mutter, tilting my head to the side to avoid his oncoming assault of lips. “Cosima…”

 

He grabs me roughly by the jaw, squeezing my face to assert his dominance.

 

“She’ll understand.”

 

“No, she _won’t,_ ” I argue.

 

I begin to panic.

 

It isn’t the prospect of his unwelcome touch, but the fear that this may all be for nothing; the capsule remains safe and undiscovered in my balled fist, though how am I to administer it to him without him noticing at this point? I need him to look away, or I must somehow maneuver myself so that my back is to him, shielding me from his gaze for just long enough. 

 

_If I cannot accomplish either task, then I may have to actually let him…_

 

My entire body begins to tremble at the thought—an act which doesn’t escape him. He smirks, releasing my jaw and reaching for the buttons of my peacoat instead, slowing popping them open one-by-one.

 

“Then you’ll _make her_ understand—or _I_ will.”

 

I feel an icy, Arctic chill overcome me at the very threat of his words. My body is rigid as I allow him to finish opening the garment before he pushes it off my shoulders, the coat sinking to the ground in a pile. 

 

“That’s better.”

 

I squeeze the capsule even harder in my fist—so hard I fear I might break it—and he moves on to the buttons of my blouse. His lips find the length of my neck while his fingers work at the buttons and my eyes clamp shut once more.

 

_I want to die._

 

Even as I remind myself that this is all for the greater good, I want nothing more than to disappear into nothingness as I feel him finally pop the last button free and my blouse suddenly joins my coat on the floor.

 

I try to think of Cosima, though it’s hard when his touch is so harsh and abrasive. He pushes his hips against mine and I can feel the length of his hardness against me, his moan smothered in my neck. 

 

Another involuntary whimper escapes.

 

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

 

_I can’t._

 

_“Look—at—me.”_

 

I shake my head, unable to fulfill his demand. I’m quaking now, especially as his hands reach for the button of my pants. I could _try_ to fight back, but I doubt I’d be very successful. Not only would he take me anyway, but I’m certain that Cosima would feel the repercussions of my rejection, as well. 

 

“Fine,” he huffs, tugging my zipper down.

 

He grabs me by the waist.

 

“If you’re going to act like a bitch, you can take it like a bitch.”

 

I find myself twisted around until I’m bent over the sleek, cool surface of the desk. It takes a moment for me to register what’s happening but the second I do, I nearly sob in relief. While he tugs at his own pants in a bid to free himself, I take the moment of distraction to quickly twist the capsule and bring it to my mouth, sliding it under my tongue.

 

Marion’s words echo in my ear.

 

_“It takes about sixty seconds once it’s activated, so don’t screw around.”_

 

Once he frees himself, he tugs at my waistband. Before he’s able to pull my pants and underwear down my thighs, I struggle against the press of him, trying to twist my body back around to face him.

 

“Wait!”

 

He stops, tugging a fistful of my hair and forcing my head back.

 

“Why should I?” he asks.

 

I’m all too aware of the seconds ticking down in my head as I try desperately to convince him to allow me to turn around again and face him.

 

“Not—not like this,” I say, shaking my head.

 

I can feel his smirk against my ear.

 

“Are you ready to cooperate?” he asks, nipping at my lobe.  


I nod, my body still trembling.

 

“Good.”

 

He forces me back around and lifts me so that I’m sitting on the desk with him standing between my parted thighs.

 

“Look at me,” he tries again.

 

Slowly, my eyes slide open until I’m met with the worst of my nightmares staring back at me. Despite my trembling, I force myself to maintain eye contact and his smirk stretches again, fangs peeking out. He runs his thumb over my lower lip, pleased by the sudden turn of events. As the timer counts down even closer to zero, I disguise my anxiety with an act of boldness, nipping at his finger.

 

“ _There_ she is.”

 

As if on cue, he crushes his lips against mine again and I part to greet him, allowing his tongue to invade me. I maintain the illusion for a few brief and painful seconds, my tongue greeting his probing one. As he loses himself in the kiss, I feel a jolt of excitement shoot through me and I force the tiny capsule into his mouth. Once successful, I pull away and press a hand over his lips, assuming his previous smirk.

 

A second passes and his eyes light up in horror.

 

I wrap my legs around his waist as tightly as I can, clinging to him and preventing him from escaping. I can _smell_ the burning before I actually notice his cheeks begin to glow, followed by a sizzling sound and his muffled screaming.

 

He thrashes against me, trying to free himself so he can spit out the rapidly dissolving capsule, but either my resolve is too strong for him or the capsule’s already taking affect, weakening him quickly to the point where he can no longer easily overpower me.

 

“You know what that is, don’t you?” I ask, my eyes cold and dead. “You should: you were the one who invented it.”

 

His entire face is glowing now, his features beginning to sink in. The palm of my hand which keeps his mouth sealed shut is burning too, but the pain is worth it if it means I get to watch him consumed by flames.

 

“You wanted the sun— so _have it!_ ”

 

He claws at my arms, trying to pry me off of him. Like the sting of burning flesh in my palm, his clawing at my skin is nothing but a surface pain—a mere shadow of what I’ve endured in the past. I know its bite is temporary and I’ll gladly wear the scars forever if it means I can feel all semblance of life leave his miserable body.

 

“I just want you to know— _you_ did this,” I continue stab at him, determined to fit in a few last words. “ _You_ made me. _You_ turned me into this— this _thing!_ ”

 

His muffled screams become even louder as his eyes begin to crumble around the sockets, his gaze full of rage and pure malice while his eyes slowly burn out of his head. 

 

A UV capsule is a most terrible way to go.

 

I can think of nothing more fitting.

 

“You could have lived another thousand years if you’d just swallowed your pride and let me go, but you just _had_ to come looking for me— ** _you had to come after her!_** _”_

 

There’s no restraint anymore.

 

He falls backwards onto the ground, taking me with him. I realize that it’s safe to step away now—that he’s all but a corpse at this point—but I continue to cling to him even as his face sinks into itself, black and charred.

 

_“Burn!”_ I scream, my fists full of ash. _“_ ** _Burn!”_**

 

I don’t recognize my voice.

 

I’m unsure if it even _is_ my voice at this point, but it comes from somewhere deep inside as I straddle the pile of ashes. I slam my fists against it like a great, furious ape until they’re bloody from the pounding and I find myself covered in a thin layer of my sire’s chalky remains.


	24. XXIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Sorry this took me so long to finish! I've had zero time to write these last few months, but this is the last chapter... or the last chapter before the epilogue ;) Thank you all so much for sticking with this story from the beginning, for your continued, overwhelming support. It really means a lot. As I said before, I have plans for a sequel, so keep you eyes peeled for that one. Can't promise when, exactly, I'll be posting it-- if I'll take a break from this universe and post another fic first or just jump right into it. I guess I'll leave it up to you guys to decide which one you'd prefer. I have a couple of more fic ideas bouncing around, I just have to settle on which one I want to work on next. Let me know what you think in the comments, or hit me up over on tumblr if you'd like to share your opinion.

I’m unable to move from my spot, feet fixed firmly to the ground. Even when Marion arrives shortly after my call and breezes through the door to the lab with a smile stretched across her face, I’m still unable to tear my eyes away from the remains of the man who once owned me. 

 

“Excellent,” I hear her purr somewhere behind me. 

 

Waves of men flow in and out, all of them whispering discreetly amongst each other and reporting back to Marion. Like performers in an orchestra, she relays them her instruction and they go to work carrying out their assigned tasks; one group occupies itself with extracting all the data they can from the computers while another team is left to deal with the “mess,” as Marion’s dubbed it. I watch as they gather Aldous’s remains into a container and then begin to sterilize the area, presumably to conceal any evidence of foul play.

 

“I only wish I could have been there to see the look on his face,” she sighs regrettably, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I bet it was one for the history books.”

 

I frown, my eyes downturned.

 

Images of his face rush into my mind— his bulging eyes, his charring skin. I replay the scene in my head and it remains just as vivid as when it happened, only I find myself able to slow it down, to freeze each gruesome frame. 

 

It isn’t Aldous’s face which vexes me.

 

It’s my own.

 

As if a bystander in my own memory, I’m able to watch myself while years of pent-up rage overtake and transform me. I wonder if his death can even be considered a victory, or if my act of violent fury saw his vision of me fully realized; Aldous always believed I was just as monstrous as he was and while I always pushed back against his conviction, perhaps I proved him right in the end.

 

It’s a thought that remains trapped in my belly, souring my stomach and what is supposed to be my grand, triumphant moment.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

She slinks her way around me like an eel traversing the ocean floor until we’re face-to-face, her bemused expression eagerly searching my distracted one for some sort of answer.

 

“I would think you'd be relieved,” she says, head cocked slightly to the side. “Aldous is finally gone—out of your life for good. He can’t harm you or yours anymore.”

 

She brings up a very valid point.

 

_Aldous is gone._

 

_Cosima is safe._

 

I know I should be rejoicing, that I should be sated by this small victory, but I understand that it’s simply that— a small, singular victory. While I may be able to sleep easier come morning, tomorrow is full of such great uncertainty and I remind myself that Marion is no true friend of mine; she could easily orchestrate my own downfall with as much enthusiasm as she did my predecessor’s.

 

“Marion plays the long game,” Aldous had once warned me many years ago. “She’s as powerful an ally as she is an enemy.”

 

As his words ring in my ears, my frown becomes more pronounced.

 

“He’s not gone,” I utter. “He’ll never really be gone.”

 

Like a bad smell, he’ll cling to my clothes and linger far past his time.

 

Marion’s brow furrows, her lips shift into a thin, straight line as she regards me with what I can only assume is curiosity. 

 

I watch as the man holding the container filled with my sire’s ashy remains slowly heads towards the door, beginning on his careful journey to deliver them to whatever final resting place Marion has deemed appropriate.

 

“Go home, Delphine.”

 

Like that day so very many years ago in my father’s study when I’d first crossed paths with Aldous, I wonder if such a feat is possible—if I can ever truly go “home” again. I think a part of me was swept up into that canister with him, and another small part will remain trapped in this room forever.

 

“Go crawl into bed with that girl you love so much,” she says, her voice a smooth, seductive whisper. “You’ll feel better about it tomorrow… when you’re the new director of the DYAD Institute.”

 

Her words reclaim my attention, thoughts of Aldous leaving my mind for a brief moment as I refocus my gaze. Her voice is soft, her smile reassuring as she urges me to seek refuge in the only warmth I know.

 

I nod.

 

Perhaps I’ve carried too much weight with me all this time and when I finally move to leave, to part with those parts, I somehow feel a little lighter.

 

Perhaps I don’t need them after all. 

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

I open the door but a crack, sliding into the narrow space I’ve allowed for myself with the stealth of a tigress on the prowl. It’s late—or early—and I expect Cosima to be in bed, having just beaten the sun home by mere minutes myself. Perhaps such an expectation is unrealistic on a night like tonight, but as I quietly lock the door behind me, I’m surprised to find her standing in the middle of the living room the second I turn away from the door; her eyes are hooded but even through the persisting darkness that shrouds our apartment, I can feel her gaze penetrating me as we both remain wordless and still. 

 

I smile.

 

“Hey.”

 

My voice sounds much softer than I ever remember it being, though it’s still unable to summon a smile to her lips. 

 

“Is… is it over?” she finally asks, face marred with concern.

 

Only when I nod does she reward me with a flash of white, with shimmering eyes.

 

“C’mere.”

 

No further invitation required, I cross the living room and find my way to her. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close to me, burying my face in her coarse braids. They tickle at my nose but I welcome the sensation as her scent fills my nostrils.

 

“What happened?” she mumbles into my chest.

 

I consider telling her the truth—sharing all of the gory details—but I ultimately decide against it.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say quietly, pulling her face away from my chest so that I can meet her gaze. “You don’t need those images in your head.”

 

My fingers brush across her cheekbones and she raises her hands, placing them over mine. She removes them from her face, locking our fingers together and staring down at our intertwined hands. I hadn’t realized just how bloodied mine are; the wounds on my knuckles have healed but the blood still lingers—proof of my demons.

 

“Hey. We’re in this together, remember? You don’t need to do this alone.”

 

As if to convince me, she brings my bloodied hands to her face once more, this time to press a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture makes me swell.

 

“It’s fine,” I lie in a cracking whisper.

 

She’s safe. 

 

My gamble paid off. 

 

Whatever consequences may arise because of my actions, I _know_ they’re worth it if we can carry on like this for the rest of our days.

 

She nods knowingly, accepting my answer. I sense she isn’t entirely satisfied with it, but she knows better than to push right now and I’m grateful for her mercy; all I want to do is disappear in her warmth for a few hours before I have to return to Marion.

 

“At least let me help you get cleaned up.”

 

With her hand in mine, she leads me through the darkness of our apartment and into the bathroom. We both disrobe in silence and I follow her into the shower without a moment’s hesitation, allowing her to gently scrub away all the remnants of the night. I’m not sure exactly how much time we spend in the shower but I luxuriate as her fingers work through my hair, as she strokes me with lathered hands while occasionally running her lips over my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck with no real sense of urgency. By the time she turns the faucet off and wraps me in a towel, I’m so light that I’m afraid I’d float away if I didn't have her to tether me.

 

“You feeling better?” she asks.

 

I capture her chin, tilting her head up slightly and allowing my kiss to serve as my answer.

 

“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper against her lips.

 

“Well, you have me anyway,” she retorts with a crooked grin. “And you’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.”

 

I laugh.

 

“I would never dream of it.”

 

I lift her in my arms, the two of us falling into bed like lovers drifting out to sea—both far too fast and painfully slow for our tastes, carried away in the tide’s firm yet loving embrace to some great and unknown destination beyond the horizon. I press kisses to her eyelids, to the corners of her lips, I trace her collarbone with the flat of my tongue and siphon all the sweet sounds I can from her soft and willing lips. 

 

_“Je vis seulement pour toi.”_

 

She sighs at my confession, clutching me tighter until I feel the welcomed bite of her nails in my back. We move in perfect sync, our bodies seeking out those terrible gaps between us and filling them with each other until it’s hard to imagine another state of being. For two dead creatures, we manage to radiate a heat that I’m sure would make even the sun jealous—a heat that coaxes me out of the night and over the edge and back again.

 

And through the delirium, there she is—matching every pant, every moan, every utterance of affection until I’m certain we’ll both combust. I swear I feel my heart slamming in my chest as I reach my climax and I swear I can taste hers as I bury my face in her chest, seeking refuge.

 

As we both descend from such immeasurable heights, we find ourselves wrapped in each other in our usual manner; her head rests against my chest, tucked just below my chin as she wraps an arm loosely around my torso. With one hand tucked behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling, dragging the tips of my fingers over the bare plains of her back with my free hand.

 

I can almost pretend that everything is normal… that is, until I close my eyes and hear both Marion and Aldous’s voices dancing around my head. Even with Cosima nestled up against me, I’m simply unable to keep reality out for too long.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Without even looking up to read my expression she can sense that I’m preoccupied.

 

“Everything will be different now,” I muse, my brow furrowed as I consider the obstacles that await us in the evening.

 

I wish I had more time to form a concrete plan, but with everything happening so fast—Aldous’s death and my ascension—there isn’t any time to devise a proper strategy. I have no choice but to play the game as it unfolds—a tactic which is foreign to me. 

 

“Yeah, but isn’t different, like—I don’t know—a good thing?” she counters.

 

“I hope so,” I utter.

 

I’d like to believe that things couldn’t be worse under Marion’s thumb than they were under Aldous’s, but I don’t know enough about Marion’s strategy to make any sort of assumptions. The only thing I’m fairly certain of is that Marion has no intention of targeting Cosima and this knowledge is the basis of my cooperation.

 

“It will be,” Cosima responds, propping herself up on her elbow and offering me a reassuring smile. “We’ll make it a good thing. We can do this.”

 

I reach out, tracing her lower lip with the pad of my thumb. 

 

Her optimism somehow manages to comfort me—to convince me that whatever’s in store for us, we’ll be prepared for it. I never could have imagined that I’d find myself back at the center of DYAD and even if I may be a little rusty when it comes to the great game that I abandoned many years ago, I have to believe that this time will be better; even in my current, disadvantaged position, I know I’m much better situated than I ever was before.

 

Aldous is no longer holding my chains.

 

Not only that, but this time I have _her._

 

She’ll make all the difference.

 

“Yes,” I say, returning her smile. “We will.”

 

 


	25. XXV: Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Here it is! It’s finally finished. What a bittersweet feeling. I’ll be taking a bit of a break from this universe before I jump into the sequel, but I’m happy to have it finished... for now ;) In the meantime, I’ll be tackling my other fic, _Days of Why and How_. Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support with this fic. I know vampire stuff isn’t everyone’s cup of tea (it isn’t even really mine), but you all took a chance with the concept and I’m glad you’ve all come to find as much joy in reading it as I have in writing it. A heads up that this chapter will be NSFW--I mean, this one sort of has to go out with a bang, huh? As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. I hope you’re all satisfied with the conclusion :)

“Congratulations, Doctor Cormier.”

 

I smile, zipping my bag closed and slinging it over my shoulder as I prepare to call it an evening. Somewhere in my quiet chest I feel a jolt of sheer anticipation—of exhilaration—as I allow my previously denied fantasies to play out in full inside the safety of my head for the very first time.

 

You see, fantasies are dangerous things.

 

They distort the truth and fill you with a false sense of hope; they lead naive girls to dark men and longer, darker nights; they leave you peering through a window, chasing light like a weary moth. I had thought I’d learned my lesson about entertaining my fantasies long ago, but then one day I miraculously found myself on the other side of that window with a little flame of my own that I was desperate to keep alight. Now that flame is a great, raging fire and instead of shying away from the inferno, I lean into its heat.

 

“Thank you,” I reply, offering my colleague a nod.

 

I try to remain humble.

 

I have every reason to boast, to declare my genius to the world like Aldous did at every given opportunity, but instead I keep my excitement to myself, bottling it up tightly for now so it can be saved for later; there is only one other it can be shared with, after all.

 

“Eager to try it for yourself before it hits the market?” Marcus asks with a knowing smile, removing his frames from his face to clean his lenses with his lab coat.

 

“Well, I’m still waiting on board approval—”

 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he winks.

 

I know he’s right.

 

I know the process will be a long and drawn out one full of much bureaucracy, but no one can deny that I’ve been able to accomplish what Aldous could not. Once the board learns that I’ve effectively neutralized the sun and opened up the entire world to our kind, I suspect even more doors will open for Cosima and myself.

 

But none of that matters to me now.

 

This isn’t about the board, about feeding them the news they’ve spent years anxiously waiting for. This is about fulfilling the promise that I made to Cosima and I could weep with joy just knowing that she’ll walk in sunlight again, that I’ll see her skin illuminated in its light with my own eyes for the very first time.

 

“You know, Doctor Leekie also used to insist on testing each batch himself,” Marcus comments.

 

I know his words are meant to reassure me, that he doesn’t know the history or the circumstance behind Aldous’s demise, but any comparison to my late sire leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

 

“Oh, this isn’t for me,” I say, gesturing toward my bag. “Well… not entirely.”

 

Marcus smiles again.

 

“Ah, that’s right,” he nods in understanding. “Send her my regards.”

 

“I will.”

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

The peace that we’ve established is still something I’m not quite used to.

 

After removing Aldous from the picture, I wasn’t sure what to expect from Marion or the coven. I had maintained my end of our bargain by assuming my sire’s role and continuing with his scientific endeavours, but a part of me had still expected Marion to go back on her word and for the coven to come after us.

 

Instead, I’ve been met with nothing but accommodation.

 

I know better than to trust it or to rely on Marion and the coven, but for now, I welcome it. So long as I continue to provide for them, I’m granted as much freedom as I could hope for in my current position. My interaction with the coven has been limited, much to my delight. I deal with Marion directly and she’s demonstrated a surprising level of respect for the boundaries I’ve erected; I’m contacted only when a status report is required and our relationship revolves strictly around our business. She’s even provided me with a generous new living arrangement—a bid to buy into my good graces, I’m sure—but I could hardly refuse the gorgeous penthouse suite upon seeing Cosima’s reaction to the glorious view of the skyline from behind the tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows.

 

As I ascend to our apartment in our private elevator, the anticipation becomes almost unbearable. I shift and twitch beneath its pressure, trying my best to keep my pokerface. I’ve dreamt of this moment, plotted the entire thing out in my mind, and I don’t want my eagerness to spoil it.

 

The doors chime open and I emerge into the home we’ve made for ourselves. The low hum of deep, mellow electronic music plays out over the speakers and fills our apartment, signalling to me that my lover is, in fact, home. I grin, unslinging my bag with its precious cargo from my shoulder and hanging it on the coat rack near the door. I divest myself of my coat and boots and begin my search—a search which is cut short the moment I notice the multiple books and papers strewn all across the rug on the living room floor.

 

My smile stretches.

 

She has access to her own office and yet she still insists on sprawling out across the floor when she works, same as always. She doesn’t seem to notice my approach or if she does, she says nothing, her nose buried in a textbook. 

 

_“Bonsoir, mon amour.”_

 

She pauses upon hearing my voice, tearing her eyes away from her book for the first time in hours. A satisfied grin adorns her immaculate face as she rolls from her stomach onto her back, tucking her hands behind her head and looking up at me with a hint of amusement.

 

“Oh. Hey.”

 

I lower myself to my knees, straddling her waist and matching her expression. She chuckles, gently stroking my thighs until I lean down in search of her lips. I’m greeted halfway, our mouths connecting softly. I teasingly run my tongue along her bottom lip and elicit that tiny groan I’ve come to expect, trying to coax her desire out of dormancy.

 

“You’ve been busy, I see,” I comment, gesturing to the chaotic state of our living room which is littered with her books and notes.

 

She nods, giving my thighs a gentle squeeze.

 

“Yeah. I have a lot to catch up on.”

 

She stirs beneath me and I move to accommodate her, allowing her to slip out of my grasp. She rolls back onto her stomach, gathering some of the notes within her immediate reach into a pile. She tucks the pile into her textbook, using the papers as a bookmark before closing it.

 

“Now that I know I’m not gonna eat my classmates, I figured maybe I can start school again—maybe take night classes or something,” she shrugs.

 

Even though she’s been out of school for some time, a mind as inquisitive as hers simply cannot be subdued and now that we’re both confident in her ability to control her hunger, she can be reintroduced to the world properly.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” I tell her, unable to conceal my widening grin.

 

“Hm?”

 

She turns onto her side to spy me out of her periphery and arches an eyebrow in my direction, caught in confusion. I smother it quickly, covering her petite body with my own. I twist her onto her back and press her gently beneath me, the plush rug absorbing our combined weight. I bring my lips to her ear, nibbling gently at the shell as she tries to suppress the tremor that rolls through her. 

 

“I have a surprise for you,” I whisper.

 

“Mmm… what kind of surprise?” she plays along, running her fingers through my hair.

 

I have many surprises in store for her this evening.

 

I have even more in store for her in the morning.

 

“It’ll have to wait just a little longer—the timing’s not quite right,” I tease, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

 

She whines, though I quickly rectify her disappointment.

 

“In the meantime…,” I begin, my pale hands with a mind of their own finding the waistband of her pants. 

 

She giggles, her hips bucking in anticipation as I quickly tug the drawstring of her lounge pants loose.

 

“You know, I _could_ use a study break.”

 

Her playfulness spurs me onward and I growl, digging my teeth into the tantalizing flesh of her neck. My fangs only prick the surface, not nearly deep enough to drain her—merely to tease, to remind her who owns her heart… not that she needs any reminders if the wetness that’s already beginning to gather between her legs is any indication.

 

She sighs as I run my fingers through her heat, urging her to shimmy out of her pants. I fasten my lips to hers again and she reaches to her side, fumbling blindly, knocking her book out of the way to clear space for us. The bed would surely be more comfortable and I’m certain that we’ll make it over there eventually, but the thought of taking her on the floor in front of the glow of the fireplace preoccupies every corner of my mind until my thirst for her becomes downright biological.

 

She struggles against me—not in an act of defiance, but rather the opposite; she knows how deeply I adore this game and she willingly plays the ocean to my moon, allowing me only brief tastes before she’s pulling back again, daring me to stretch her even further next time. I grow deliciously frustrated each time our tongues connect, each time she turns her head away and breaks our lips apart just as I find myself sinking into our kisses. She denies me all momentum, denies my burning hands as they wickedly seek out her most revered parts only for her to capture my wrists and relocate them.

 

“You’re driving me crazy,” I groan, my body nearly quaking with restraint.

 

“You love it,” she dismisses me, her fingers working at the buttons of my blouse while she peppers my jawline with feather-light kisses.

 

She opens the garment and pushes it down my shoulders. I shift, shedding the blouse and tossing it aside. I watch her do the same, pulling her own sweater over her head and exposing herself to me. I’m immediately greeted with an eyeful, grateful I don’t have to find my way around her bra, as well. I pause to take in the sight of her sprawled out beneath me in nothing but a flimsy pair of underwear and I feel my center pulse achingly.

 

“I do,” I admit with a tint of laughter to my voice. “But if you keep teasing me like this, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

 

“And what’s going to happen?” she goads, eyebrows raised and smirk half-cocked. “Cause from where I’m lying… it looks like a whole lot of _nothing_.”

 

She wriggles her hips, mocking me further and calling my bluff.

 

Only it isn’t a bluff.

 

“What’s going to happen,” I begin, my voice low as I find my fire again and pin her wrists down on either side of her head. “Is that I’m going to fuck you.”

 

Her seduction, while magnetic and all-consuming, still remains tinged in a playfulness that’s a product of her youth. Like a child with a secret too big to keep, her desire shines through in the subtlest of hints; an arched brow, dancing fingertips, a tongue poking out from behind her teeth once it’s retreated after a witty jab. I find myself completely lost in the gestures, desperate and aching for more.

 

She strains against my grip, craning her neck forward until her lips are ghosting over mine.

 

“Then you’re gonna have to work a little harder,” she dares, her voice husky.

 

I can taste the words.

 

They’re hot against my lips despite their absence of breath; perhaps it’s the mischievous glimmer in her eyes which fuel them. Her lashes flutter and her grin continues to spread when she realizes she has me ensnared. 

 

I throw my full weight into our kiss, pressing her into the soft, forgiving fibres beneath us. Her giggles turn into sighs which elevate to moans the second my lips abandon hers in pursuit of greater sweetness. As my lips begin to trail down her neck, over her collarbone, finding her breasts, she rakes her claws down my back and I hiss, bucking into her.

 

“Is this hard enough?” I purr.

 

I thrust my hips into her again, grabbing one of her knees and prying her open even wider to receive my attentions. She arches up to meet me, grinding her barely-clothed center against me. 

 

“You can go _harder_.”

 

I freeze.

 

Looking down and searching her gaze, I maneuver my way through the fog of her desire until I’m faced with the true intent behind her words. My own eyes twitch slightly at the realization and she teases me again with a quick flash of her tongue from behind her teeth. She presses a kiss to the corner of my lips, confirming my suspicions.

 

I release her.

 

“Stay.”

 

My voice is gruff and strained as I stand and when I stare down at her on the floor, she twists her body in anticipation, dragging her fingertips down the valley of her breasts, her stomach—teasing me. I hurry into our bedroom, anxious to resume our activities. I shed the rest of my clothes as I make a beeline toward the dresser, crouching to reach for the bottom drawer and pull it open. I remove the discreet black box and pull the lid off, my lips twitching upward into a smile when I find what I’m looking for.

 

Amongst the rest of our toys I find the leather harness, the silicone phallus. It takes me a couple of minutes to get myself situated—usually Cosima helps me in this endeavour, but I’m a grown woman with a PhD and the current head of the DYAD Institute, so I’m certain I can figure it out with a little bit of effort.

 

My mind wanders back to the day we made this purchase; it was something we had talked about before, something she was far too eager to try. She’d never had a man before—never even knew if she would like it—but the budding scientist in her was unable to dismiss the thought from her mind. She had cheerfully dragged me to the store and on the clerk’s recommendation, we had picked out the most expensive harness they carried and a suitable toy—smooth and moderately-sized.

 

It was as good a place as any to start.

 

I had been reluctant at first, my fear being that I would find the experience too disjointed, though on the contrary, I find it to be strangely intimate; watching her eyes widen and glaze as I fill her to the brim, feeling the resistance as I plunge into her, hearing her keen as she clenches around the sturdy piece of silicone… it’s enough of a reward to pay for the equipment a hundred times over.

 

When I reappear in the living room with my new appendage, I find her sprawled out on the couch, underwear removed. She smiles when she notices me, her eyes shifting between my gaze and the toy, her fingers wandering the plains of her body.

 

“Brat,” I mutter, approaching her slowly. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

 

She stands, attempting to close some of the gap in our height.

 

“You didn’t say _Simon says_ ,” she teases, her hand finding the appendage.

 

She grips it tightly, giving it a firm tug and causing my eyes to nearly roll back in my head.

 

“You don’t want to play games with me, Cosima—not now,” I growl, my hands finding her hips.

 

“Wrong,” she laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck and bringing her lips to my ear. “I wanna play _all_ kinds of games with you.”

 

I pounce, her words taunting the beast into action. She’s grown strong enough now that she could put up a more challenging fight than before, but I’m met with no resistance as I pin her to the ground. She seems to delight in my aggression, a deep and throaty laugh escaping her as I walk head-first and willing into the trap she’s set for me. Gripping her hips roughly, I maneuver her body until she’s perched on all fours in front of me. Her head hangs low until I trail my lips down the column of her spine and she sighs blissfully, lifting her head again so that I can catch her gaze in the glow of the fireplace, our eyes locking in the glass doors.

 

I grip the sturdy toy which dangles from between my legs, using the tip to tease at her entrance from behind. A tremor tears through her as I coat it in her wetness and I find my lips pulling into a smile once more.

 

“But _this_ is what you want the most, isn’t it?” I ask.

  
Once I’m lined up, I grip her hips tightly and leave her dangling on the precipice. As aroused as I am in the moment, I refuse to continue until she learns the rules of _my_ game. I chuckle as I watch her try to hold out, to prolong the seduction. I reach up the length of her back with one hand, finding her braids and forcing her head back.

 

“Tell me,” I command, my voice harsh in her ear.

 

“Yes!”

 

She backs herself into me and I allow her to slide all the way down the length of the toy until her ass is nestled snuggly against my groin, the pressure sending a shock straight to my core. We both pause for a moment, satisfied groans slipping out of our mouths in unison. I never feel so complete as when I’m buried inside of her, evoking such sweet sounds from her lips.

 

When we’re both ready to move again, I begin with a steady rhythm; I dig my fingers into her hips deep enough to leave crescent-shaped marks in her skin and work my way in and out with long, languid strokes that I accentuate with a swivel of my hips each time I feel the toy reach her innermost depths. She clutches the pile of the rug beneath her and quivers like a leaf in the wind every time I hit her sweet spot. 

 

I work her slowly and surely like this until I sense a crack beginning to form in her demeanour. While I’m perfectly content to carry on like this for hours—until the sheen of sweat which coats our bodies begins to drip from the exertion and the sound of our skin slapping together deafens us to all other noise—I know that our bodies will break long before our wills do. This night is supposed to be about fulfilling promises and so I know it isn’t right to draw out the exquisite torture for longer than necessary.

 

And I’d say we’ve reached the point of necessity.

 

“Harder,” she pleads.

 

My thrusts become more hurried, more forceful as I continue to slam into her from behind over and over, giving her no time to recover or prepare herself for my onslaught. Her moans grow louder until she can no longer support herself on both her hands and knees; her arms wobble before she forfeits, burying her face in the rug with her ass still raised to receive me. There’s something so visceral about having her this way that I can’t help the low growl that emanates from my throat; my eyes bleed black and my fangs unsheathe themselves. Even though she’s unable to see me from her position, she can sense my shift and she matches it with her own, forcing herself back against me to grind against the toy so that the base presses against my burning sex.

 

“F-Fuck…,” I hear her drawl.

 

I find more resistance each time I enter her and she clutches me every time I pull out, as if she’s desperate to be filled—her body hungry to be whole. I abandon my grip on her hips to stretch myself over her body like a brand new layer of skin, hugging her from behind as I continue to plough into her with a little less grace each time.

 

_“Tu es—tu es mon monde,”_ I tell her, nearly choking on the words as I feel a white heat begin to spread through me.

 

I sink my fangs into the flesh of her trapezius and she cries out, the sound of her voice filling my whole world before the heat overtakes me completely and I collapse into her. 

 

The universe stalls.

 

It takes me several minutes to regain my bearings and once I do, I press a lingering kiss to site of my lover’s bite and roll off of her, joining her on the floor.

 

“Mmm… how do you do that?” she asks me with a weakened grin, turning her head towards me ever-so-slightly so she can read my expression.

 

I laugh.

 

“I was about to ask you the same question,” I say honestly.

 

She inches closer, pressing her lips to mine to remind me that we’re both still here. I luxuriate in the moment, suspended, until she pulls away again. I whine as I watch her find her feet, somehow pulling herself to a standing position. 

 

“How can you even move right now?” I ask, looking up at her both amazed and amused.

 

She positions herself over me, a foot on either side of my waist. She beams down on me with her head cocked to the side.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a one-and-done,” she teases. “I _know_ you can do better than that.”

 

She’s right.

 

We’ve certainly had much longer nights of passion and while I have no intention of calling it an evening just yet, I need another minute to find my bones and will them back into solid form.

 

“You sound quite confident for someone who was just fucked into the floor,” I throw back at her.

 

It’s her turn to laugh.

 

“Maybe I have my own surprises for you,” she winks.

 

My attention piqued, I sit up.

 

She laughs once more, sauntering away from me towards our bedroom.

 

“Come to bed.”

 

 

\+ + + + +

 

 

“Mmmm… tired,” she groans, rolling over onto her side to bury her face in a pillow.

 

She looks so blissful and relaxed that I have half a mind to let her depart into her well-deserved slumber, but I will not miss my grand opportunity.

 

“Not yet,” I whisper, planting kisses along her shoulder blades.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You can’t sleep just yet.”

 

She rolls over, prying an eye open to regard me curiously.

 

“Why not?” she asks. “It’s nearly dawn.”

 

I grin back at her.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Both eyes open this time. Her brow furrows and she sits up.

 

“You’re gonna have to cut it with the cryptic talk. I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

 

I fight the urge to pull her face toward me and shower her with kisses.

 

“Come for a walk with me,” I say softly.

 

She pauses.

 

“Very funny,” she deadpans.

 

I could try to explain to her what I mean, but words seem too modest to describe what it is I’m offering. Instead I drag myself from the comfort of my bed, finding my robe hanging on the closet door and wrapping myself in it.

 

“Where are you going?” she asks.

 

I ignore her, vanishing into the living room in search of the bag I discarded earlier. I dig through it, finding the plastic receptacle which houses my gift. With trembling hands, I carry it back to the bedroom to deliver it to my love.

 

She has found her glasses, her face illuminated by the glow of the bedside lamp.

 

“Here.”

 

I hand her the receptacle and she stares at me, completely lost in her confusion. She accepts my gift anyway, inspecting it closely.

 

“What is this?” she asks.

 

I open my mouth to explain, only the words escape me. Emotion finds me instead and my lower lip quivers; I watch her open it, revealing two syringes and a vial.

 

“This is our future, Cosima.”

 

It takes her a second to reach realization but once she does, her eyes widen and lips tremble, as well.

 

“Do… do you mean…?”

 

She desperately searches my expression for answers and when I respond with a reassuring smile, her eyes begin to swell.

 

“Hold out your arm,” I instruct, retrieving the vial and one of the syringes.

 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she presents her elongated arm to me. I fill the syringe with the liquid from the vial—the culmination of my life up until this point—and inject a generous dose into her.

 

Once I’m done with Cosima, I use the other syringe and repeat the process with myself.

 

“Is it working?” she asks, shooting up from the bed. “I don’t feel any different.”

 

She’s pacing around the bedroom now, staring at her arm expectantly.

 

“It is,” I say, trying not to laugh at her eagerness. “I promise.”

 

Aldous has spent years working on this serum and I’ve spent the last eight months perfecting it. I wanted to wait until I was completely certain that I was successful before presenting it to her; I couldn’t bear to raise her hopes only to smash them to pieces if my efforts were in vain. 

 

She waits another minute, running her hands along her skin as if she’s waiting for something incredible to happen.

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

I crawl from our bed, walking purposely toward the balcony. As I reach for the handle to the sliding door, she nervously retreats deeper into our bedroom.

 

“Delphine, wait!”

 

I pull the door open and the world seeps in. 

 

It’s light is gentle.

 

I take a bold step over the threshold, crossing over onto the balcony.

 

I look up at the sky; the sun is just beginning to crawl above the skyline and I close my eyes, allowing its warmth to embrace me. 

 

There are no flames this time, no searing pain. 

 

There is only silence and a great calmness.

 

“Come,” I call to her.

 

She follows in my footsteps, crossing the threshold and stepping out into the world like a fawn finding its legs for the first time. She’s weary at first, but the moment she realizes that I’m unscathed—that her skin isn’t being stripped from her—everything shifts.

 

It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen.

 

The sun washes over the gentle curves of her body, basking her in its glow like a firefly along the lake at night. Her expression shifts many times over the span of a few seconds—from fear to relief to utter joy to something that’s unnameable to me.

 

“D-Delphine… I’m…”

 

Apparently the feeling is just as unnameable to her, as well.

 

I seek her out, closing the distance between us. My hands cup her face and I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. We both close our eyes, both allow ourselves to slip into the moment and stay lost.

 

“I never thought… I never thought I’d see it again,” she admits through silent tears.

 

I brush them away with the pads of my thumbs.

 

“I knew I would.”

 

There was a time I felt the same way.

 

My nights had grown so long that I had given up on morning altogether… and then she appeared. Suddenly, my impossibly long nights became far too short as she filled them with a sense of purpose that simply refused to expire with the break of dawn; stars filled my skies again and wonder returned to my world.

 

That’s when I knew that our nights would never be enough.

 

That’s when I knew I would find the light again, no matter what the cost.

 

_If only to see her shine._

 

 


End file.
